


Time and Ten

by aclosetlarryshipper



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Babysitting, Bullying Mentions too, Christmas, Christmas Eve, I don't work for Snapchat this isn't product placement I'm sorry, Kid Fic, M/M, Mentions of Hanukkah!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 17:47:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2820860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aclosetlarryshipper/pseuds/aclosetlarryshipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Don’t you think it’s weird that when you get older, Christmas doesn’t really feel the same?”</p><p>Harry wishes he could say something helpful, but he knows Louis is right. Once you begin to have to give gifts instead of simply receive, the lost feelings of wonder and excitement are irreversible.</p><p>“I guess that means you just have to bring the magic yourself,” Harry says.</p><p>(Harry and Louis are babysitters who meet in line for Santa.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time and Ten

**Author's Note:**

  * For [excelsors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/excelsors/gifts).



> I combined all three of your prompts… oops. Also, it's set in the U.S... I hope you like it?
> 
> Thanks to [Miranda](http://minitomlin.tumblr.com) for the encouragement and help and [Erin](http://sickwithlarryngitis.tumblr.com) for coming to my rescue when I was desperate :)

The change in temperature is palpable when Harry pulls Lux through the automatic front doors to the mall. One moment is ice and chattering teeth and suspiciously yellow snow stuck to his boots, and the next is stifling warmth that makes him want to rip his hoodie off.

“My socks are wet,” Lux complains from beside him, her voice high and loud. She stops right in the middle of the food court to pout, jutting her bottom lip out like she does when he won’t let her have a second scoop of ice cream. He wishes it wasn’t adorable. 

Harry sighs and crouches down to help her with her jacket. It’s big and puffy—so large it’s difficult for her to lay her arms flat against her sides. He’s nicknamed it her marshmallow, but never says it out loud because then she won’t stop begging him to make s’mores. 

“I told you to wear your snow boots. You _knew_ it was icy outside,” he reminds her gently. The zipper gets stuck.

“But daddy got me these and I wanna look _pretty_ for Santa,” she stresses, wiggling her toes, the white tights covering them stained grey with melted snow.

“But—” Harry grunts as he tugs the zipper all the way down, “your toes are going to turn into frozen hotdogs. You could get sick.”

He helps her slide her arms out of the marshmallow, but she skips ahead of him when he tries to hand it to her to carry.

He’s at the mercy of a pesky four year old, but as he takes a deep breath, he supposes that’s nothing new.

“Slow down,” he shouts, standing and running to catch up to her.

He actually panics a bit because the mall is crowded—though that’s to be expected for the first of December. Not only is it the first day parents can pay to have their child sit on an old man with an itchy fake beard’s lap, but the entire mall is full of unrivalled holiday shopping sales.

Needless to say, it’s almost as chaotic as an intersection with a broken stoplight at rush hour.

Once he reaches Lux, he grabs her hand and squeezes tight before handing her the coat. “It’s too crowded in here for you to run away from me, okay? Don’t do that again.”

A woman with a wildly swinging, pink Victoria’s Secret bag almost nails Lux straight in the face, drilling his point in even more. He gives her a significant look as he leads her through the crowd.

He happily hums along to the low drone of a Christmas song, sidestepping the frazzled mothers and rowdy teenagers and wide-eyed children gripping their parents’ hands. He can smell murderous expenditure, stress, and pine needles—the _true_ scent of the holidays.

He’s broken out of his thought by someone yelling his name close by. His head snaps to the left and his eyes light up when he sees the name caller—his old babysitter, Caroline.

He and Lux struggle through a tight-knit cluster of goths to join her in front of an overcrowded Bath and Body Works.

“How’ve you been?” Harry questions as soon as she’s within arms reach. He lets go of Lux’s hand and pulls Caroline in for a full embrace, minding her huge belly gleefully. There’s nothing he likes better than the promise of future babies.

He almost feels like he’s the one in pre-baby bliss just by being close by.

_Babies._

“I’ve been great, thanks,” she beams over his shoulder. “The due date is Christmas, so just a few more weeks until you finally get to meet Brook.”

Harry’s jaw drops and he pulls away, only to hold her at arm’s length and stare at the baby bump. “Has it already been _nine months_? I can’t even _believe_ that. I feel like just yesterday I saw the announcement on Facebook!”

She grins and runs a hand over her stomach absentmindedly. “Yeah, it’s incredible. I can’t believe it, either, to be honest.”

Harry’s eyes roam over the stretched green fabric pulled taut, and she seems to understand. He always _has_ been transparent.

“You can feel if you’d like.” She almost rolls her eyes.

But _Harry’s_ eyes widen even more if possible, elated and ecstatic. He reaches out and hesitantly presses a palm to her stomach, struck by how warm and firm it is. It’s so, so astonishing to him that there’s a future person just hanging out in a sac of fluid inside her. He thinks he feels a little kick, and is instantly struck with the memory of how feisty Lux was when Lou was pregnant with—

With. 

…With Lux.

 Lux.

  _Oh._

He’s struck with sudden dread. His heart might actually stop. He can physically feel her absence crushing his organs.

He pulls his hand from Caroline’s belly and glances around, terror numbing his toes. He has the advantage of height, but he doesn’t see the familiar blonde hair or festive red dress anywhere.

She’s gone. He’s officially lost a four year old at a crowded shopping mall during the holiday season. He’s been able to keep track of Chapsticks for their entire lifespan, but he’s proved unable to keep track of a living, breathing human being.

He excuses himself from Caroline with a quick _sorry_ , his mind completely focused on where in the mall she could be. He hurriedly decides that the most logical explanation is that she’s either in the children’s play area or she’s gone searching for Santa herself.

Since she’s an almost annoyingly impatient go-getter, he decides to search for the North Pole first.

It’s not difficult to find—there are signs on sparkling red and white candy cane poles detailing _this way_ and an unending train of tiny bodies that wouldn’t even make it to Harry’s hip following their direction.

Once the overgrown Christmas tree and life-size robotic reindeer come into view, he shouts out, “Lux! Where are you?” He considers adding on that he’d never be the same without her, but he figures that would sound too dramatic.

He gets a few funny looks from fellow shoppers, but none of them are from the right person. He never realized how popular it was for children waiting to see Santa to wear the color red until he was forced to try to find a toddler in the sea of them.

He’s halfway on his way to mall security to call for her over the loudspeaker when he finds her.

His gaze zeroes in on the situation, and then he sees it: she’s talking to a _stranger_.

She’s talking to a stranger in the mall—a boy in a Santa hat who looks about his age, kneeling down to speak with her.

He thought he taught Lux not to talk to strangers once she uttered her first syllable.

And she’s _crying._ Harry is possibly the worst baby-sitter to ever exist.

He sprints as fast as possible to them, almost knocking over a preteen with braces, but he’s too high on adrenaline to care or apologize.

“Are you okay?” he yells over the noise. As soon as he reaches her, she turns to hug his leg. Harry runs a reaffirming hand through her hair as his heart slows.

“Is this your Harry, then?” the boy she’s talking to asks as he stands.

Harry steps in front of Lux to separate her from the strange boy, prepared to brandish a sword to get him to leave them alone. He begins to ask him what the hell he was doing talking to a helpless little girl and making her cry, but.

But.

_But._

He loses his train of thought in the middle of his sentence once he gets a good glimpse of his face. The dread drains from his body and is replaced with a flood of relief. His voice catches and everything goes fuzzy and blank and he’s _sure_ he stutters tremendously, but the guy just stares on politely. He actually smiles once Harry lets out a semblance of a sentence and nods in understanding, like he actually made sense.

He’s sure he didn’t. He’s not sure he’s ever met someone as _cute_ as this boy, and it’s more than a bit distracting. He’s a bit disappointed in his lack of focus, but he’s 99% positive someone with such a kindhearted, open expression wouldn’t be capable of kidnapping or stealing the lunch money from a little girl like Lux.

He allows himself to let his guard down and give the rest of him a quick once-over.

He’s unlawfully adorable. The ball at the end of his Santa hat is lying delicately against his hair by his ear and Harry’s sure he’s never met anyone with a face as soft and smooth and buttery as his.

He’s darling and Harry decides right then that he wants to unwrap him like a present. He wants him for Christmas. He’ll have him.

“I see where you’re coming from. If I saw some weird guy talking to Jamie and who knew my name, I’d be just as concerned,” the stranger lets out a laugh like fucking Christmas bells, and Harry knows he should probably remember how to talk seeing as how he’s been doing it for most of his sixteen years on earth, but his tongue feels like it’s made out of goo and his throat is tingly and it’s just.

Inside, there’s so much going on. This boy’s _smile_ burns brighter than a fully lit menorah. If he were born a Macabee, he could probably have kept the candelabrum oil burning for more than eight days long. This boy probably singlehandedly caused the miracle of Hanukkah himself. Harry regrets not spending more time this morning making his hair look less like cotton candy.

He was prepared to yell and scream and possibly cause a scene, but instead he finds he wants to invite him over to make love by a fireplace— _or cookies_. He’d be okay with either, honestly. Both sound unbearably sweet.

“I—hi. Yeah, I’m her Harry. She ran away from me,” he explains, his voice thankfully steady. Lux helpfully nods her head against the back of his thigh.

“Louis,” the boy introduces himself, reaching forward to shake Harry’s hand.

He’s a bit disappointed by the stiff formality, but any excuse to touch the boy— _Louis_ —sounds good to him. Louis’ hand is small but soft, warm and dry. Harry kind of wants to massage lotion into his palm (and the rest of his body.)

“I’m really glad you found us,” Louis grins.

He looks genuinely delighted by the entire situation. Harry’s not sure how someone can remain so cheerful in a crowded mall full of disgruntled shoppers while wearing a hot, itchy Santa hat. It’s impressive, but also oddly suspect.

Surely there must be something wrong with him. Everyone has a tragic flaw, after all. Harry’s never met someone so cheerful without ulterior motives.

Nevertheless, Harry tries to smile back at this wondrous, perplexing creature; but he’s distracted by Lux pulling at his jeans.

“Can we go to Santa now?” she asks, her eyes still bloodshot from the tears.

“Jamie and I were just on our way there, too!” Louis cheers.

 _Cheers._ With cute, little fists raised in the air in victory. Harry has never felt like an unenthusiastic person, but he almost feels like Scrooge compared to him.

“We can go together, if you’d like?” Louis suggests. “These two have class together, so it could be fun.”

It’s then that Harry notices a little boy with black hair drooping low over his forehead clutching and hiding behind Louis’ leg.

His _muscular_ leg.

He has nice, strong-looking legs. If he were this child, he’d probably touch Louis’ leg, too. As often as possible.

Oh God. Harry’s always thought kneecaps were the most hideous part of a human’s body, but he realizes he wants to see Louis’. They’re probably cute because he’s just so—

He’s so _cute._ He’s smiling up at Harry with ridiculously long eyelashes and little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and he’s pretty sure he should be in the ads in magazines.

“I—I’m okay with it if you are, Lux,” he glances down to check her reaction. He remembers she told him a story a few weeks ago about the mean boys from class who knocked over her tower and laughed when she cried, and he briefly wonders whether Jamie could be one of them.

But she nods and mouths _he’s nice,_ so Harry really has no reason to worry.

Louis does a quick victory dance and leads the way. He plows through the conglomeration easily, like a powerhouse packed into a compact body. The crowd parts for Louis like the Red Sea, but then Harry thinks that’s actually Passover and not Hanukkah, and remembers he’s not doing too well in his religious studies class.

Harry almost feels guilty about how closely he watches Louis as he and Lux follow in his and Jamie’s footsteps, but Louis’ bum is a truly fantastic sight to see. ‘Tis the season and all. Happy holidays to him. Peace and joy on Earth for all.

And he’s not sure why, but once they get situated in line, Louis turns to him and begins telling him a story about his sister (Phoebe? Daisy? Lottie? He says so many names so rapidly and early he can’t keep track).  

Harry doesn’t understand more than a few words.

He’s talking like they’re best friends… it’s as casual as when Harry tells Niall about his chemistry lab partner’s unending attempts to get him to ask her out. There’s no hesitation, no awkwardness, and Harry’s honestly not sure how to respond. He’s never met a more at-ease human in his entire life.

Do people normally just skip the awkward getting to know each other phase and become best friends? Did they just _become_ best friends? Has Harry been making friends incorrectly his entire life? Is this how _most_ people make friends?

“Yeah, definitely, sisters can be a handful, you know?” Harry tries to add to the conversation when Louis finally stops talking long enough to take a breath and check that Jamie is content.

Harry’s not actually sure what he said to him, so he hopes his comment is on topic. If not, he hopes Louis wasn’t talking about something dreadful like walking in on his parents putting presents under the Christmas tree as a toddler or something equally as scarring.

It seems Harry wasn’t too far off, because Louis’ face lights up even more, if possible, and he starts up on another story. Another seemingly funny, well-paced, entertaining story.

He seems to be a conversational enthusiast. Harry feels like a grunting troll, comparatively.

But he’s hopelessly _endeared_ along with unable to keep up. Santa’s sleigh could probably be powered by Louis’ mouth alone—though maybe Harry shouldn’t be thinking of that.

 _Louis’ mouth._ Ah, yes, thin pink lips framing sharp canines and slightly crooked teeth.

Louis’ mouth is making him think God is real. Though December is the best time to start believing, he supposes. Maybe this was in the plans all along. Meeting Louis has been a spiritual awakening. This was in God’s plans.

Lux is practically vibrating with excitement when they make it to the front of the line.

“Santa!” she squeaks, tugging on Harry’s hand and pointing to the man inevitably sweating through his costume.

“Don’t wanna go,” Jamie shakes his head at the same time, his hair falling into his eyes.

“What?” Louis gasps in surprise, his face animated. “Don’t you want Santa to know what to get you for Christmas?”

Jamie shakes his head and frowns before he whispers, “Scary.”

Louis crouches down to get on his level—Harry tries very hard to keep his gaze at an appropriate level. He watches as Louis places his hands on Jamie’s shoulders and studies his face, Jamie’s eyes seemingly focused on the ground.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he can hear Louis whisper, like he doesn’t want the others to hear.

“We can together, if you’re scared,” Lux suggests. She reaches out to Jamie and pats his shoulder like the compassionate little girl she is. He shrugs his shoulders in trepidation just as the gate opens and an elf in green tights asks if they’re ready to see Santa.

“I’m not s—” Louis begins to explain, but then Jamie nods and lets Lux pull him inside. The gate swings shut behind them, the crash quiet but final.

Louis stands, stunned, and they both step out of line to watch from the exit as their kids climb into Santa’s lap.

Harry is sure Lux is going to list a million things she wants and hold up the line for hours. He wonders if it will cost extra.

“You know, it’s actually a pretty sweet gig to be a mall Santa,” Louis hip bumps him out of his thoughts.

He looks criminally hot leaning against the railing while they wait, like someone posing for a Christmas spread. Perhaps he really does do modeling on the side.

“I work wrapping at the bookstore on weekends,” Louis explains, his voice a little less animated than in line. “So I’ve seen a few of them around. You can make, like, _ten thousand_ a season if you work enough.”

Harry tries to think of something winning and brilliant to say to make Louis as happy as he had been before, but his brain still feels like it’s moving an inch a minute. “Don’t know if it’d be worth it to get kicked in the balls and peed on, though.”

Louis lowers his head and lets out a quiet laugh. He looks up and presses his lips together tightly like he’s holding in a smile.

Mission accomplished. All good has been restored to the world.

Louis snaps his head back to Lux and Jamie. “Look how cute they are together,” he coos, letting out a content sigh. Harry agrees and pulls his phone out to snap his own picture and document the moment.

“Hey,” Louis suddenly reaches out to grab Harry’s bicep. He’s actually surprised he doesn’t drop his phone in shock.

“I really like Lux. There’re a bunch of dicks in their class who pick on Jamie since he’s shy, but he’s _never_ had a bad thing to say about her. He says she always shares her cookies.”

Harry’s heart clenches terribly and grows to twice its size all at once. He always thought children were supposed to be angelic cherubs until the public school system and entitled fifth graders corrupted them, but it’s not surprising to him that Lux has always been kind.

“And then how she convinced him to go up with her—she’s good for him. Are you her baby-sitter or brother—or, or her dad?”

Harry chokes just as the professional shutter goes off. _“Definitely_ not her dad. I’m helping a family friend out. She does hair, says the salon gets busy around this time of year. So I said I’d take her today,” he explains very, very clearly.

No room for misinterpretation. He thinks about adding on that he’s not sure how he’d ever have gotten someone pregnant, but figures that would seem just a bit too forward at this point in their relationship.

Another click.

“Yeah, I do the same for Jamie’s mom,” Louis adds, but his expression is concerned, eyebrows pulled together. “So… you don’t see her that often, then?”

Harry bides his time deciding on an answer and watches as Lux hugs Santa goodbye and pets his beard in a gesture of camaraderie. Bless her soul.

“I pick her up from school sometimes. And watch her until Lou can come pick her up,” Harry finally (half) lies.

It’s happened in the past. He’s sure it could happen again.

Louis smiles and pushes off of the railing as the children follow the elf to the gate. He faces Harry and flicks his head to the side like he’s trying to get hair out of his face, but all it does is make the ball at the end of his Santa hat flip to the other side.

It might be a nervous habit. Harry is beyond endeared.

Louis’ hip pops to the side once he takes a confident step closer. “Do you think I could have your number, then?”

*

Harry’s not entirely sure how the simple question leads to Louis and Jamie coming over for hot chocolate and holiday movies. The entire car ride home he’s wide-eyed and replaying their interaction to figure out exactly where things went so _right,_ but he realizes it could only be a Christmas miracle. He and Lux have been blessed. God wants him to have someone to kiss and share body heat with on New Years.

Harry would gladly receive coal in his stocking for the rest of his life if it meant he could spend his time ogling Louis forever.

While they’re over, Harry realizes a few things:

  1.      Louis’ eyes are brighter around children.


  1.      Lux likes Louis _possibly_ more than she likes him.


  1.      He needs to sneak her extra sugar cookies as a counter attack because that’s 100% _unacceptable._


  1.      He’s seen Louis around school once before. He thinks he’s a year ahead of him.



The encounter was quick and hardly noteworthy. He thinks it might have been in a bathroom or locker room while he was stressed about a test, because he can’t imagine there being any other circumstance in which he didn’t make a stupid pun to try to get Louis’ attention.

He makes it his goal to keep his head up in the halls more often. He wants his New Years kiss. 

*

For such a promising meeting, Harry is sad that he doesn’t get a follow up text from Louis. He gets a video Snapchat of his sister (Phoebe? Felicite? He’s still unsure) putting the angel at the top of the Christmas tree followed by a quick pan of Louis sticking his tongue out, but he’s almost positive it was a mass snap.

He appreciates that he was given access to Louis’ personal life, thankful even, but it feels a lot less special if he knows it wasn’t for his eyes only, and that makes him frown.

He’s never really minded someone being less enthusiastic about him than he is about them before, since he’s normally so quick to flit between objects of his affection. It never really lasts long enough to matter, but he finds he’s oddly a little bit put off by Louis’ silence.

However, when he wakes up on Saturday and checks his phone, eyes scrunched together against the brightness, he’s given a chance to speed thing along.

* 

Harry spots Louis the moment he comes into view.

And he’s even hotter than before. He’s rethinking his rumination that Louis was indeed a Christmas hallucination brought on by too much eggnog. He’s too angelic to be real.

“What a coincidence, running into you,” Harry exclaims over the crowd.

Louis turns to him and blinks once before he breaks out in a huge smile and _hugs him_. “Harry! And Lux!”

Harry tries not to feel like a bad person for inviting Lux to the Christmas parade under false pretenses. But really, what child doesn’t love parades? Especially when there’s a promise of free candy and teddy bears?

Harry offered to take her out of the goodness of his heart, really. She should be thanking him. It was selfless.

Instead of thanking him, once Louis pulls away from him (and lingers, Harry swears to God), she moves to stand beside Jamie on the curb, eyeing the older group of children to their left.

They don’t know what they’re up against.

Harry admires her competitive energy. No Reese’s or Twix will go unclaimed. He’s probably going to have to goad her into sharing with him after.

Today is full of perks: hugs from a hot boy and free candy. He’s content with his choices.

“You got my message, then?” Louis guesses. He unrolls the sleeves of his sweater over his hands as a cold gust of wind blows, and then grins up at Harry, cheeks pink.

And so, so smug. He knows. The message was a ploy and Harry inadvertently fell for it.

“What—what message?” Harry stutters, but he’s still grinning like he knows.

Louis pokes at his chest. Harry’s nipple hardens, but he thinks he can probably blame it on the cold if anyone notices. “My Snapchat? _Christmas parade 10 to noon, anyone else coming?_ It—it said you read it,” he finishes, his face falling a bit in disappointment.

“Oh,” Harry nods his head and pretends it doesn’t feel like Louis’ finger is poking holes straight through his heart. “Yeah, but I mean, Lux really wanted to come. And we just—walked by and saw you—”

Harry is lying; they walked for twenty minutes searching. Lux is an enthusiastic enabler. He thinks if she knew what it was, she’d ship him with Louis.

“Wanna know a secret?” Louis interrupts him mid-explanation. Harry is glad for the interference. He nods.

“You were the only person I sent that message to,” Louis admits with no shame. He lets out a tiny laugh after and doesn’t break eye contact.

Harry’s eyebrows probably rise high enough to touch heaven. This is _news._

“Really?” he asks, because that’s really all he can think at the moment.

Louis nods. He’s smiling, but Harry isn’t used to such blunt honesty. He’s never had someone tell him they like him so outright since he was six and his next-door neighbor tried to force a sneak kissing attack on him.

So… this is a thing.

Cool.

Now that Harry knows Louis planned this just as much as him, he feels much more confident.

“I was trying to see whether you wanted to see me again as much as I wanted to see you,” Louis shrugs. “Also, Jamie kind of needs a push to fight for candy, and I didn’t think it would be right for me to fight off children.”

Harry looks to Lux lecturing Jamie shamelessly, hands on her hips as best as she can while wearing her constricting marshmallow.

“Lux has no problem bossing _anyone_ around,” Harry assures him.

“I figured,” Louis smiles. “And free candy is the best candy, after all.”

A loud rendition of Jingle Bells by the local marching children’s choir marks the beginning of the parade. They’re followed by huge, ridiculous floats covered in tinsel and hanging stockings and children with much less singing experience than the original choir and fancy red cars with women in dresses waving at the crowd through their shivers. Little snippets of Christmas carols fade in and out as each act or float passes and candy flies through the air to every person under twelve.

It’s not quite freezing—the snow on the ground has melted into a grey slosh and Harry only feels goose bumps when the wind seeps through his jacket, but Louis is trembling beside him.

And it’s just—the opportunity is much too great. Harry reaches for his shoulder and pulls him into his side without any hesitation.

He blames all of the good holiday cheer and smiling faces surrounding them. Ending suffering, and all. The season of giving.

Harry hopes he remembered to put deodorant on in his rush to get downtown. He thinks he remembered. He hopes. It’s too cold to sweat, anyway. He thinks he’s safe.

Almost immediately, Louis loops his arm around Harry’s waist.

 _Cozy_ and _warm_ progression.

Harry’s never understood why someone would prefer a summer fling when a winter rendezvous sounds so much more appealing. He’s had a few insignificant, short-lived summer romances, but when it’s hot he never wants to do anything but live in an ice cube.

 _The winter_ , though. Winter is full of presents and snow and hot drinks and holiday magic. The world seems to be in an elevated mood, cheerful and generous and giving. It’s called the most wonderful time of the year for a reason _,_ though he imagines it’d be even _better_ with someone warm by his side for the season.

He’s never had anyone to keep him warm in the winter, and that makes him sad.

He rubs at Louis’ shoulder in a subtle experiment and is rewarded with him clinging tighter to his waist in response.

He smiles and turns his cold nose into his shoulder, too.

Bless science. Hypothesis confirmed, results commendable. Further tests recommended in order to add credibility.

Once the final float has passed, Santa yelling out _ho ho ho_ and _Merry Christmas!_ Lux and Jamie rush to show both of them the candy they accumulated. It isn’t surprising that Lux’s heap is spilling over her palms faster than she can catch it, so Harry gladly takes a few pieces for safekeeping.

Jamie has a bit less in his possession, so Louis settles for stealing chocolate from Harry’s hand.

“I wanna go ice skating,” Lux complains only moments later, lollipop stick hanging from her mouth as the crowd begins to disperse.

Harry turns to consider the nearby park. He can see the tiny ice rink set up in the middle of the field, overcrowded and packed full, the ice probably so uneven it’s difficult to skate.

It sounds dangerous.

He nods anyway. He can’t say no to her—he blames her innocent eyes and evil pout. “Yeah, we can go. Are you…?” he turns to Louis to see whether they’d like to join.

*

Once they’re all paid for and the ice skates are on their feet, Harry leads Lux onto the rink. Jamie is hesitant, so Louis talks him through it on the sidelines as Harry and Lux make their first round.

It takes a bit of practice to remain stable, but he finds that it’s almost like riding a bike, and it comes back to him quickly. They get competitive as they pass another little girl and Dad skating combo and speed up, but they don’t fall once, which is more than Harry could have ever hoped.

They stop by the entrance once they make it around the entire circle once and wait for Louis and Jamie to make it through the gate and join them, Harry’s fingers cold against the Plexiglas. Jamie stumbles a bit as they enter, but Louis keeps him upright with his strong grip.

Harry thinks that he wants Louis to grip _him_ , but a lot more inappropriately.

He instantly berates himself. As they begin their slow skate forward, he once again realizes that he’s definitely on the naughty list this year.

The second lap is shakier than the first. Lux sandwiches herself between Harry and Louis and grabs both of their hands while Jamie stays glued to Louis’ other side.

All in all, it feels _a bit_ too domestic for a first date.

Date. Date? _Date?_

Harry’s not sure if it qualifies. Dates normally don’t involve children and half-planned, weird use of psychology Snapchat meetings. He’s not sure what to call it. Their Accidental On-Purpose Not Pre-Planned Appointment.

Lux grows brave(r) on their fourth round and skates ahead of them all by herself.

It’s probably hazardous, but Harry knows she’d just skate faster and somehow hurt herself if he were to try to stop her, so he lets her.

But now that she’s gone, the space between him and Louis feels endless, like deep, unexplored, open water. He’s not really sure of the appropriate amount of space to put between them, but then Louis throws him a life raft—he reaches his hand out and nods at him in a crystal clear invitation. Naturally, Harry grabs on.

And fuck, their fingers are laced, not clasped. _Everyone_ knows what that means—they’ve made it to the big leagues. They’re officially past platonic interaction.

It’s fast, but Harry loves fast. It’s how he prefers to live his life—fast and quick and ceaseless. Sometimes it isn’t the best life aesthetic; like, whenever he makes spaghetti he gets frustrated by how long the water takes to boil, so he forgets about it for an hour and ends up with waterlogged, oversized spaghetti—but most of the time the pros outweigh the cons.

So, basically, he’s never been happier that someone seems to be on the same page as him.

In fact, he gets so caught up in his happiness that he trips over a deep dip in the ice. He stumbles to the ground after much flailing and somehow ends up sliding on his back until his legs are halfway to the floor above his head.

Even worse and more embarrassing, he pulls Louis straight down with him. And it would be an acceptable move if Louis somehow fell on _top_ of him and they ended up making out with Christmas lights twinkling in the background like in all the movies, but they just slide next to each other with Jamie wobbling and struggling to stay standing beside them.

He wallows on the cold, hard ground in self-pity for a moment before the fear of someone skating over and chopping part of his ear off becomes too strong. Lux comes to a sudden stop to the side of him with an exaggerated headshake, and she grabs his hands and attempts to help him stand.

Louis stands, too, and brushes the powdered ice from Harry’s back and bum with a laugh. His palms are bloody and Harry’s back is a bit bruised, but all in all it isn’t a terrible outcome. It could have been worse.

They skate for another half hour until Jamie begins to complain that his fingers are numb and they decide to head out.

*

“Can we stop at the bookstore—in the mall?” Harry questions, turning abruptly into the parking lot. The tires thankfully don’t squeak at the movement or skid due to the icy conditions.

Niall looks up, phone between his knees, seatbelt cutting into his neck. He squints his eyebrows, his face lit up from the half-typed text. _“Why?”_

Harry gulps, eyes running through the dark, packed rows of cars to try to find a parking spot. “Robin told me about this—this _book_ he wanted for Christmas. I thought I’d get it for him while we’re around.”

He’s sure he’s going to see straight through him, so he’s surprised when Niall shrugs, his eyes dropping back to his lap. “Okay. Which book?”

“I—” Harry stalls, because oddly the only book title coming to his mind is _50 Shades of Grey._ But if he said that, Niall would _definitely_ see right through him. Also, Robin would never forgive him.

Harry would never forgive himself, too.

“I’ll know when I see it.”

They snag a spot close to the entrance and hurry inside, trying to beat the wind chill. Christmas music is playing softly in the background, and the store smells like a mix of new books and overpriced coffee. Harry tugs at his collar once they make it to the bookshelves, aware that Niall is following him like a puppy. They pass through the home improvement section and Harry cranes his neck in search of his true destination.

Louis said his wrapping table was toward the back, and he’s almost positive he said he’d get off at nine, which is only—he glances to his wrist, but realizes he’s not wearing a watch, so he’s not sure exactly _how_ soon it is.

But _soon_.

They wander through the stocked cooking section and Harry notes an Italian cookbook that he thinks he might actually want to buy.

“Do we have a test tomorrow in history?” Niall asks, breaking the silence.

“How would _I_ know?” Harry answers honestly. He’s not exactly known for being the type of student (or person in general) to know what’s going on or plan ahead, and Niall should know this by now.

They’ve just turned the corner and approached the young adult fiction when he spots Louis’ workstation.

Harry takes in the bright green wrapping paper lining the table and Louis’ Santa hat slightly askew atop his head, and Harry thinks it’s possible Louis is _actually_ a sexy elf sent from the North Pole to punish him for all of the cookies he stole from the jar as a child and blamed on Gemma.

Louis’ smiling at the woman he’s wrapping a present for and chatting with her daughter, who can’t be more than six or seven. He lets her come closer and—oh _God,_ he’s showing her how to curl ribbon. He’s _teaching_ her. He lets her grab the scissors and guides her thumb as he pulls the string over a blade and smiles and—

Harry’s so inappropriately turned on by it.

He grabs the book closest to him and powers forward without letting Niall know.

Louis looks up and smiles at him sweetly from under his fringe as he approaches. “I’ll be right with you,” he promises.

It looks obscene. Harry swears he’s seen the exact come hither look in a porno once.

This is unacceptable. It’s blasphemous.

He’d probably wait forever if Louis asked.

Niall seems less patient when he comes up behind him, sighing, though.

“I’m _pretty_ sure we have a test,” he groans. “Ed’s tweeting like crazy, and you _know_ that means he’s bored and studying.”

Harry hums in agreement, his eyes glued to the way Louis’ fingers are working the ribbon that refused to curl when the little girl tried.

He has such nice hands. Harry wants to hold them again. They’re so lovely.

“Fuck,” Niall hisses. “Ed tweeted _why is history a thing?_ So we _definitely_ have a test!”

If Niall thinks he gives a flying fuck about a history test, he’s more wrong than he was when he thought it would be a good idea to shove as many marshmallows into his mouth as possible and he nearly choked.

(He hasn’t had a s’more since.)

“That’s great, Niall. _Very observant._ But I need to get this wrapped right now and I honestly don’t care.”

“Why can’t you just buy it and wrap it la—” Niall begins, but his face falls in a sudden moment of clarity when he follows Harry’s gaze. “God, Harry, do you even _know_ the guy?”

“Who?” Harry asks just as Louis finishes a perfect bow and hands the woman her present with a blinding smile.

“Him? Santa hat and perfect bone structure over there?” Niall points.

Perfect bone structure waves them both over at that moment. Harry’s legs move automatically.

Louis sets both hands down on the table and smiles at him. “Harry! I’m so glad you actually came.”

Harry somehow tears his eyes from Louis and gestures to the book. “Yeah, I had to get this book for Robin, anyway, uh—”

He glances down at the title. “Yeah, _A Piece of Cake._ He’s been on this weird baking kick, so I thought I’d get him a cookbook for Christmas.”

Louis nods like it’s a perfectly reasonable explanation and reaches out to grab it from his hands. Harry lets his hand linger, and he’s very upset their fingers don’t brush like in all of the romance books he steals from Gemma’s room and secretly reads when he can’t sleep.

“You know,” Louis remarks, his face suddenly blank as he reads over the pink cover. “Someone bought this _exact_ book yesterday.”

Louis’ voice is such a nice pitch. Harry doesn’t want him to stop talking ever. He leans in closer over the table to hear well.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, urging him on.

“Yeah,” Louis confirms. “And this is most definitely _not_ a cookbook. Not even close. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you just wanted an excuse to see me again.”

Harry chokes as Niall steps forward, hopefully to save him from humiliation.

“He’s not exactly subtle, is he?”

Niall doesn’t save him.

But oddly, Louis seems almost offended on his behalf. He gives Niall a quick once over and raises one eyebrow. “Actually, I _asked_ him to come visit me, so he doesn’t have to be. If anything, _I’m_ the unsubtle one.”

Niall throws both palms in the air in surrender and (hopefully) a friendship offering. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. And I’m Niall, by the way. Harry’s my best friend.”

“Louis,” he offers as he sets the pink book on the table, his face now less guarded. “Niall… I think I know your brother, Greg—cool guy.”

Harry is thankful for their rapid switch to cordiality. He’s not sure where he wants things with Louis to be headed (though he hopes it _will_ involve head), but, nonetheless, Niall’s opinion means a lot to him.

“Niall and I were going to do a— _a thing_ after this, if you wanted to come with us?” Harry asks Louis without thinking.

Honestly, he does _too much_ without thinking. He should probably think _more_ , but Louis’ mouth is still pink and his Santa hat is still cute and his hands are still probably too dry. There are too many things happening to think clearly. He blames Louis’ smile.

Thankfully, Niall doesn’t blow his cover or start yelling that there were no such plans made.

He’s not sure what he has in mind if Louis says yes. He was just going to drop Niall off and then go home and pretend to go over his history notes while actually having a wank—

Oh God, Louis shouldn’t say yes. He hopes he doesn’t because he doesn’t really want to embarrass himself or end up _boring_ him—

“Sure!” Louis smiles. “I’m off in ten.”

“Great,” Harry squeaks, but he most definitely does not mean _great_. A more accurate word would be _fuck_ or _why_ or _rewind._ “We’ll just—we’ll be around—looking for a cookbook,” he lies again.

Niall pulls him by the ear like an upset parent until they’re sheathed by a tall bookshelf. He crosses his arms over his chest and gives Harry a stern look (that he supposes he deserves.) He looks like a young, displeased father. Harry’s ears go even redder in anticipation of the lecture to come.

“Niall and I were going to do _a thing?_ What _thing?”_ he questions, exasperated.

Harry shrugs and juts out his bottom lip, sneaking a peek at Louis’ table between the collections of C.S. Lewis. “I don’t _know,_ Niall. We’re not cool enough to do Louis-worthy things on a school night. What if he thinks I’m boring? You have to help me!”

“Maybe you should have thought of that beforeyou invited him to hang out!” Niall whisper-shouts, eyes flicking to Louis’ table as well. “And, sorry, but I care more about graduating on time than watching you fail at flirting all night.”

“Hey,” Harry pouts. “Do I really fail?”

Niall sets a hand on his shoulder consolingly. “Honestly, it’s like watching a turtle try to sprint. Bit painful, to be honest. Mind dropping me off on your way to do _the thing?”_

He agrees because Niall is immune to his pout.

And after Louis complaining about Harry not giving him the tip he deserves (an innuendo if Harry’s _ever_ heard one), a faked sickness, and a passive aggressive battle for the front seat, Harry finally drops Niall off.

Once the door closes, the porch light flickering from the slam, he’s left with a content Louis, the winner of the Battle of the Front Seat, tapping his fingernails against his thighs beside him. He still has the Santa hat placed atop his head, and paired with the snowy tree showing through the fogged car window, he looks a bit like a living, breathing Christmas snow angel.

“What were you and Niall planning on doing before he came down with sudden _food poisoning?”_ he asks, the corners of his mouth upturned.

Niall is no actor. Louis knows.

Harry tries not to laugh and puts the car in drive. “Didn’t really have a plan, to be honest.”

“Mm, figured,” Louis confides. He surprises Harry by slapping both hands to his thighs and turning to him, his eyes bright in a sudden realization. “If you want to, we could look at Christmas lights! That used to be my favorite part of December.”

He notes that the lights are sporadic at best at this time of the month, but Harry agrees. “I think there’s, like, a Christmas Tree Lane thing near my house they put up every year? It might be up.”

“That sounds perfect,” Louis grins.

“It’s settled,” he adds simply as he reaches forward and changes the radio to a Christmas station.

And from there, Louis is chill and smiley and pleasant, humming along to the radio and content to stare out the window as Harry drives slowly so they don’t slip on any ice.

It’s unexpected: nice, new, and comfortable. There are few people in the world Harry is comfortable with sitting in almost complete silence with—he’s a _talker_ , a chatterbox, and silence often makes him uncomfortable. He loves the back and forth, loves steering the conversation into directions the other person isn’t expecting and cataloguing information about them in the back of his mind so he has a little bit of a starting point for later conversations, but it feels like he already knows Louis well enough that it doesn’t feel necessary.

Or maybe not that he knows him well enough, but that he doesn’t need to take that extra step. They’ve surpassed it. They’ve transcended. They’re on level ground.

Once they’re in the neighborhood and Harry slows, Louis leans over to grip his elbow. “Can we get out and walk?” he asks, his eyes still eager and excited. “It’s never the same in the car.”

Harry briefly mourns the fact that he’s not wearing a scarf and is going to become a snowman, but he agrees, pulling into an empty parking spot by a playground.

Louis doesn’t play fair. Even in the dark, the blue of his eyes shines through and it’s hard to say no to them.

Sadly, Harry steps in a puddle of melted snow as he steps out of the car. Louis laughs freely at him as they pass through wet grass and zip up their jackets, and Harry breathes in the misty but calm air, the night placid and quiet. Their surroundings are blurred from the light haze of fog, but not enough to where it feels dangerous or claustrophobic.

Louis easily slips his hand into Harry’s and laces their freezing fingers together once they make it on to the sidewalk. He pretends his gasp is a cough.

_Fast._

The ground is glittering with old snow reflecting the streetlights, highlighting their path as they set out at a comparatively leisurely pace.

Louis takes his time to take it all in and admire the lights when they reach the first decorated house. They stop and turn to face the basic garage framed in blinking, white lights, but Louis still seems amazed, the lights sparkling in his wide eyes, illuminating his face in a slow, blinking pattern.

“I like to play a game when I do this,” Louis whispers into the gentle wind, squeezing Harry’s fingers. Harry watches the way his words swirl through the air along with his breath.

“When I was a kid, we’d always rate the lights from one to ten, so we could figure out the best house in town. We’d always take a picture in front of it on my birthday, the _whole_ family. Kind of like a tradition,” Louis explains.

“Not sure there’s enough houses with lights for a good sample size just now,” Harry muses.

Louis elbows him in the side as best as he can with their linked hands, smiling faintly.

“That’s not the point! It’s just, like—” his eyebrows furrow and his face falls. “It doesn’t feel like it’s the holidays without it anymore, you know?”

He studies the house like it’s his last final, his eyes darting from the top to bottom like he’s trying to find a meaning he knows is there but he can’t comprehend.

“I—I actually haven’t done this in years,” he finishes, his voice dripping with wistfulness.

Louis tries to smile and pretend he’s happy they’re finally getting to do the thing he’s missed, but he’s doing a terrible job of hiding his desolate nostalgia.

Harry’s heart plummets faster than an anchor. It’s the First Time he’s seen Louis sad. He decides he doesn’t like it, but he’s not yet sure how Louis prefers to be cheered up.

He thinks he’s probably someone who likes to be distracted with humor rather than sympathized with, but—

“It’s just nice,” Louis says under his breath. He drops his chin and he toes at the snow, mumbling out a low _two_ before he resumes their walk. Harry wants to kiss his face, but instead he just follows.

It gets progressively colder as they walk along the path. Louis’ fingers are like ice and Harry wouldn’t be surprised if their hands actually froze together, unable to thaw until spring.

He thinks he probably wouldn’t mind too much, but it would make life difficult. He frowns and lets out a shiver.

Louis stays quiet but huddles closer into Harry’s side, until they’re walking with their arms around each other rather than linked by the hands. Harry can feel that both of their teeth are chattering, but Louis insists _one more street_ when Harry finally suggests heading back. Harry can still sense Louis’ lingering gloom, so he agrees.

They turn a corner, walking around a section of snowed over grass with the tips of the overgrown blades poking through a translucent layer of white. And then Harry is overwhelmed and momentarily blinded.

He’s hit by a burst of bright light and color, trees wrapped in ropes of white and reindeer cut outs on the roof and enough bulbs to burst a circuit breaker. There are candy canes lining the path to the door and a simple wreath with a red bow hanging from the front door. _Merry Christmas_ blinks across the garage, and Harry’s just thinking it’s definitely good, but he’s seen _better_ when—

“This is a _ten!”_ Louis laughs out in joy, like he’s in disbelief at their good luck. “I haven’t seen a house this good in ages! Let’s take a picture!”

Harry doubts his fingers would even be able to work his phone’s camera at this point. And also—he’s not sure Louis is seeing the same thing. “How can you say this is a ten? This is, like, a _seven_ at best. And that’s being generous.”

Louis steps away from him with a betrayed look. His Santa hat slips a bit further down his forehead and Harry’s arm drops back down to his side sadly.

“Look how much effort they put in! _Look!”_ Louis physically points to the outdated, jerky snowman on the lawn cricking every time it waves. “It shows character! They’re Christmas enthusiasts! They _deserve_ a ten!”

Harry feels a drop of wetness on his nose and realizes it’s beginning to snow. It would be romantic and he thinks he’d kiss Louis, if only his balls didn’t feel like they were ready to fall off. Harry reaches out his hand and jerks his head back the way they came from, more than ready for his car’s heater.

“I just think I’ve seen better, is all,” he explains simply.

Louis stands his ground, which is a little bit embarrassing because Harry’s just standing there with his arm outstretched for no apparent reason, but Louis finally sighs and takes his hand.

“Fine, but that’s a terrible attitude to have, you know,” Louis tells him. It seems he’s not going down without a fight.

They almost turn down the wrong street. The fog has thickened.

“What’s so bad about wanting to wait for the best house?” Harry asks at a turn.

Louis takes a moment to answer, sticking his free hand into his pocket. “I guess it’s just… if you’re waiting for the best, then you’ll never find it.”

“Very ominous,” Harry comments. Louis grins and bites his covered shoulder.

“What I mean is—like, the best could be right in front of you. But if you’re always too focused on finding something bigger and better, you’ll never appreciate anything fully, so you’ll _miss_ it. Does that—”

Louis stumbles over a dip in the sidewalk. He squeezes Harry’s hand to the point where it hurts and grabs at his forearm with his other hand, and they both almost topple to the ground with the momentum.

Harry’s glad they don’t. He’s still a little bit sore from his fall while ice-skating.

Louis might be synonymous with danger. Maybe this is the sign that he should stay away.

It only makes him want to stay more.

They straighten up and Louis lets out his perfect Christmas bells laugh. He continues on casually, like they didn’t just have a near death experience. “Sorry. And I guess I know it’s just Christmas decorations, but still.”

Once they reach the car, Harry turns the keys and they sit for a few minutes to warm up, the engine low and rumbling.

“We should do this again,” Harry suggests into the darkness, his breath still coming out in a mist, his body cold as fuck. “And then we can get your picture.”

“Even if we do this every night until Christmas, we’re never finding your ten,” Louis sighs. “You’re like my step-dad. I think the highest we’ve gotten from him was a nine.”

He’s not sure he likes how Louis seems to have no faith in him. He’s positive that if they were to continue their hunt, he’d know his ten as _soon_ as he saw it. He trusts his intuition, but he doesn’t want to start a more meaningful argument.

He’s certain they’re still at teasing level, not fundamental disagreement level.

Mindful of the ice and that Louis’ presence makes him feel warmer than his shitty heater, Harry switches the car to drive with a dismissive shrug and noncommittal _maybe_ and maneuvers through the streets slowly. They’re quiet as Louis directs him to an old neighborhood, the architecture outdated and the giant, snowy trees taller than the nearby power lines.

Louis mumbles for him to stop outside a yellow, one story house with smoke billowing from the chimney. Harry puts the car in park but leaves the engine running and turns to face him.

“Thanks for tonight,” Louis smiles like he means it. “I had a good time. Do you—do you think maybe we could hang out with Lux and Jamie sometime this week?”

His voice sounds almost hesitant, like he’s not sure Harry would want to spend time with him. In response, Harry nods out an enthusiastic agreement, mentally noting to ask whether he can borrow Lux from Lou _again._

It’s free baby-sitting, so he’s not exactly sure why she’d refuse in the first place.

He’s about to ask Louis what day works best for him when he’s interrupted by lips pressed to his temple. His jaw hangs suspended, his words forgotten as Louis grips at his shoulder tightly.

Louis’ lips are cold and a little bit wet against his skin, but he thinks he likes the unexpected feel of them. He thinks he’d like it better if Louis had kissed his mouth, but he’ll take what he can get for now.

Louis pulls away with a quiet smack and licks his lips as he sits back. He keeps his eyes lowered almost shyly as he unlocks the door and picks his bag up from the floor. The following silence is electric, the line between the possible and impossible blurring like watercolor in the rain.

“I—I guess I’ll see you later,” Louis finally blurts out and scurries from the car.

Harry watches him as he fumbles with his keys at the porch and never looks back. He lingers for a moment even though he knows Louis isn’t coming back, but then he remembers the history test and realizes he can’t stay.

His mind is a mess on the way home. He distracts himself by switching between his two favorite radio stations.

*

On Tuesday, Harry gets a text in the middle of pre-cal. He despises pre-cal more than his Aunt’s Annual Christmas Fruitcake, so he checks his phone without hesitation.

_Jamie and I are making cookies after school and I think we need adult supervision ;)_

Harry frowns and tries to remember whether they’ve ever discussed kitchen rules. In the end, he’s not exactly sure what Louis means. He thinks he might be completely missing the point and decides the text wasn’t aimed to him.

A few minutes later, he gets another, though.

_And by adult I meant someone who knows how to work an oven … ;)_

Harry is halfway through a response when another text comes through.

_Bring Lux too pls :)_

_*_

Harry one ups Louis and splurges on a Gingerbread House kit with Lux once he picks her up from school. It isn’t even _just_ a kit; it’s deluxe, as well as gluten free (though that wasn’t purposeful.)

Harry keeps it hidden underneath his jacket as snowflakes begin to fall around them on their way to Jamie’s front door. Harry gives the bell a quick succession of three rings, and he and Lux are left shivering until Louis opens the door. Lux runs inside, impolitely forgetting to wipe her shoes off on the mat, and Harry brings the package from out of his jacket.

Louis doesn’t look too upset at being undermined and lets him through, Jamie peeking at him from behind Louis’ legs.

Inside, the house is warm and cozy—the walls painted soft green and small enough that the fire burning in the front room actually seems to warm the entire house. They pass through the hall to join Lux in the kitchen and she demands that Harry open the gingerbread kit as soon as they’re through the door.

Once it’s opened, she tosses the directions aside and asks (demands) Jamie to hold two walls together while she cuts open the bag of icing with the safety children’s scissors Harry brought along.

Louis is impressed by his forethought, so he counts it as a victory. They lean against the counter as they watch their kids work together.

“Our little architects,” Louis sighs out. He mournfully glances behind them, where the cookie baking ingredients are waiting. He scratches at his forearm. “We should probably just—we should help them _build_ , honestly. Four isn’t nearly old enough to supervise the construction of a house. That’s a safety hazard.”

Harry has a shrewd guess that it’s more because it’s another reminiscent holiday activity than because of safety precautions. He decides to pry because he’s nosy and lacks discretion and wants to know.

“Do you make Gingerbread Houses often?” he asks simply as he pulls a chair out for Louis by the left wall of gingerbread.

Louis blushes and thanks him after a moment of confused jumble, which might have been part of Harry’s plan. It’s always easier to get people to open up when they’re caught off guard by something. Harry thinks it has something to do with the juxtaposition between the familiarities of the subjects, and a person will always latch onto the well-known.

“I did every Christmas when I was a kid, yeah. Wanted to be a roofer for a while, too, because of it,” Louis laughs simply. Harry nods and brings another chair from the other end of the table to sit close beside him.

“Not sure how those correlate,” he mentions pointedly, urging him on.

He has a hunch that Louis’ someone who has trouble letting go of the past. He’s noticed it in the way his eyes soften while reliving holiday memories from his childhood and how he tries to hide how disenchanted he is with the way the holidays have unavoidably changed over the years, from magical and exciting to a stressful reminder that capitalism stabs at the soul.

They watch as Jamie assembles the fourth wall, icing oozing from between the gingerbread. Harry’s pretty sure it’s lopsided, but he doesn’t want to kill the kids’ dreams so early in life.

“It makes sense because when I was younger, I’d always be in charge of icing the roof and adding the gumdrops. And I didn’t realize at the time that roofing was actually a lot more physically demanding and that candy wasn’t involved. I was a naïve child,” Louis admits with a shrug. He rights the gingerbread wall Jamie is struggling with and holds it together.

Louis looks like he’s yearning to say more, his eyes glassy with snowed over memories and muted Christmas carols. He bites at his lip like he doesn’t want to let anything slip, though.

Harry tears open a bag of ambiguous, colorful candy and sets it by Lux’s elbow, who’s already halfway through icing the Gingerbread Person. He decides they’ve been ignoring the children for too long and gives Louis an easy way out.

“Well, since Louis’ told us his childhood dream, what do you want to be when you grow up?” Harry asks Lux.

She pulls out a red candy and begins to meticulously place the buttons. “Um. I wanna be president of the world. And have a restaurant that feeds homeless people. And a armadillo. And go to Jupiter.”

Harry nods solemnly—he expected just as much. He doesn’t doubt she’ll somehow do all of it by the time she’s thirty, even getting to Jupiter. “Very admirable, Lux. A worthy future, definitely. What about you, Jamie?” he adds casually at the end.

Jamie shrugs and returns his eyes to the roof he’s assembling. Harry expected as much, but it still makes his smile drop down to the floor.

Jamie still hasn’t opened up to him. Not even once. He never even gets a _hello._ Harry thinks it’s possible Jamie hates him for no particular reason, which is not what he’s used to. He can get people from one to ninety-two to like him within a few sentences, but not this one little boy.

Jamie has singlehandedly ruined his Christmas.

Louis sets a hand on his knee and mouths _he’s still getting to know you,_ which only makes him feel a little bit better. They move on to happier subjects.

Halfway through the process, the house collapses in on itself because Louis puts too much pressure on the roof while adding an unidentifiable blue candy. As Lux watches all of their hard work go down, she looks like she’s about to cry. Her lip wobbles and her eyes well up, but oddly, she gets over it just as quickly as the emotions come on.

“S’okay,” she sighs before she climbs out of her chair, her shoes slapping against the tile.

She comes to the other end of the table and lifts her arms up towards Louis. “Hug?”

Louis kneels to hug her, but she grabs the bag of icing set idly on the table and spreads it across his cheek, instead. He looks unsure how to respond and glances up at Harry with wide eyes and white icing on his skin as Jamie climbs out of his chair, too.

Louis turns his attention back to Lux, giggling behind her palm, the icing clutched in her free hand. “Why are you trying to turn me into a gingerbread man? Do I look edible to you?”

Harry wants to say yes, that he looks absolutely _delectable_ and he’d love to taste him _,_ but Jamie chooses that moment to place a gumdrop on top of the mess on Louis’ cheek.

It doesn’t stick, but from there it’s a flurry of globs of icing and a gumdrop war and loud laughter, though Harry manages to stay out of the range of fire. He stays in his spot as he watches Lux and Jamie team up on Louis, pelting him with candy and squirting icing all over the place. Harry gets a sticky handprint to his knee, but he manages to redirect Lux to help Jamie pull Louis to the floor, so his face and (more importantly) his hair stay clean.

By the end of the intense battle, both Lux and Jamie are holding down one of Louis’ shoulders as they draw pictures in white all over his face. Perhaps it’s not the white substance Harry’d like to see spread over Louis’ perfect skin, but it’s a nice visual, anyway. Truly the best he could have wished for.

“Enough!” Louis finally declares. He pulls their hands from his shoulder and wriggles free of their hold as he sits up, his hair ruffled and sticky. He looks up at Harry and deliberately licks icing from his lip.

And, like, _obviously_ he knows what that’s going to do to him. Louis is evil. Now is not the time to get turned on. There are quite literally children around.

“We have to clean up or we’ll never be able to come back over,” Louis complains.

Harry thinks it’s addressed to the kids, but he also thinks it’s partly addressed to him.

And then a 25,000-watt light bulb goes off in his brain in a burst of light and clarity. It’s almost _too_ perfect of an idea. He’s not sure he can pull it off.

He hopes he can. Impromptu ideas always render the best results.

“I’ll help. Show me where they keep the cleaning supplies,” Harry suggests, refraining from wiggling his eyebrows.

Louis sighs and stands. The children pretend to suddenly be very interested in fixing the Gingerbread House. Harry was once a child, so he knows it’s simply a diversionary tactic, but it works with his plans perfectly. He’s so proud.

“This way,” Louis leads him into the next room. The door swings shut behind them.

Ah, sometimes things work out _too_ perfectly.

When Louis gestures to the supply closet, Harry takes a deep breath and pins him to the wall.

They both stop breathing. Louis’ wrists are completely still in his palms, but his eyes are wide, already glued to Harry’s lips.

Oh God, the opportunity’s too great. Kissing wasn’t actually in the original plan, but he’s going for it.

Plans are overrated, anyway. Harry’s motto _has_ always been _“do now, think later.”_

He pushes past the sudden nerves and inches forward, eyes locked on Louis’.

But as he leans in for the kiss, he panics. Louis looks ready and willing—his lips are static and open just the right amount and his eyes are still locked to his lips so Harry knows he wants to kiss him, too, but at the last second he changes course and sticks to the plan, licking a slow stripe up his cheek.

Louis ends up kissing the hinge of his jaw, and it should probably feel like a mess or an awkward fuck up, but Harry swears it’s The Most Erotic Moment in the history of Erotic Moments. He’s never wanted anyone this much in his entire _life._ He might whimper.

Louis’ heaving chest is trapped against his and he can hear and feel him breathing hotly against his skin. Harry takes in a deep breath and keeps his tongue flat and deliberate as he changes the angle and licks another vertical stripe closer to Louis’ mouth.

It feels kind of childish to lick icing from Louis’ cheek when really all he wants is his tongue in his _mouth,_ but the anticipation is also so hot and sensual he knows he’s only moments from getting hard. He can feel Louis’ lips dragging and the blunt edge of his teeth grazing the skin at his jaw as he goes, can feel Louis’ heated skin pressed against his. Louis’ body is caged in completely by his, and he can imagine them in this position, but more horizontal, and that sends his thoughts into a snowstorm.

When there’s no more icing, he pulls back a bit and licks the sugar from his lips. Louis stares up into his eyes from against the wall with his pupils blown, his breathing unsteady. Harry’s fingers twitch against his wrist, but he tries not to give in yet.

For someone who hates waiting, the part he likes most about a first kiss is, ironically, the anticipation. He loves the shared breath, the unsure, hesitant flickering of the gaze from the eyes to lips, the way it makes his heart race and fingertips tingle with nerves, the way the first, fleeting lip contact makes his blood heat up a few degrees and switches his mindset from wanting to _needing._

He releases one of Louis’ wrists and clutches the wall above their head as he ducks in to lick the icing from Louis’ other cheek. Louis uses his free hand to pull Harry closer by the waist, and he can feel that he’s not the only one having issues with keeping himself under control.

He wants Louis so much he’s going to burst. Louis nips at his jaw, and that’s when he knows it’s time to go in for the kill. Enough anticipation—he’s been waiting for this moment since he first realized Louis wasn’t a creep.

He ends his final lick with a lingering, open-mouthed kiss to the apple of Louis’ cheek and leans back to take in the sight in front of him.

Louis looks dirty in the best way, white icing clinging to his hair and cheek still glistening with the path that Harry’s tongue left, his eyes hooded and cheeks flushed.

“Can you—” Louis begins, fingers flexing against his waist, but Lux chooses that moment to barge into the room.

“I can’t clean the kitchen all by myself!” she yells, oblivious to her terrible timing.

Harry is probably going to die. He can’t believe he’s being cock-blocked by a four year old.

He pulls away from Louis regretfully, wrists crossed strategically in the front of his body.

He’s still half-hard and the kitchen is only half clean when Jamie’s parents get home.

*

A few days after the Life-Altering Occurrence, it blizzards. Overnight, the outside world transitions from a grey, muddy icicle to a first-rate winter wonderland. Harry wakes up with freezing toes and numb fingertips, and even though he knows the next few months are going to be unbearably cold, he smiles when he stares out the window.

Streams of snowflakes are still falling to the solid blanket of snow covering the ground. The pure white is almost too bright and perfect, unscathed and strangely inspiring, beautiful but hauntingly sad at the same time. It will be ruined before anyone has a chance to appreciate its loveliness, waiting patiently for an admiration that will never come, and that’s sad. But for the moment it’s pristine and beautiful—so, so beautiful he has to look away.

He takes one last longing glance outside and brings his blanket over his head, basking in the solitude before his alarm goes off and he has to escape his cocoon of body heat.

*

When he gets to school, Louis is waiting for him at his locker in a red sweater, a beanie pulled over his head. He grins and pushes off the wall when Harry gets to him, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“It snowed so much last night I had to shovel the driveway,” he complains perkily.

He’s not sure how someone can complain while being perky, but it’s too early to think it over too much. He supposes Louis is just multitalented.

Harry nods and spins his combination, too sleepy to respond thoughtfully.

“I was thinking after school we could build a snowman with Lux and Jamie? Kind of like a play date,” Louis goes on, smile still plastered to his face. “And sledding. That too. Definitely. Maybe a snowball fight, as well.”

Harry hides a yawn behind his hand and nods. He reaches into his locker and drops his head against the side when he realizes he left his pre-cal book at home.

Louis approaches him from behind and drops his chin to his shoulder, sweater paws to his sides. “Or not? Are you okay?”

His breath is warm against Harry’s neck and it sends a shiver down Harry’s body. He almost collapses when Louis presses a kiss to his shoulder.

“I’m just tired,” Harry answers pathetically, but it’s true. In the winter it feels like his body needs twice as much fuel to do a simple task like putting on shoes or making the dangerous trek from the shower to his clothes. The morning has been an all around struggle, and he still feels half asleep.

He’d probably brave the cold with nothing but socks for Louis, though. Also, kisses are the best way to wake up more fully.

“I promise I’m excited. A snowman _and_ the chance to nail you in the face with a snowball?” Harry questions rhetorically as he slams his locker shut.

“Best day ever,” he assures him as the bell rings.

* 

The thing about building a snowman is that Harry sucks at it and he knows it. Last year when he tried to make one with Gemma when she was home for the holidays, she ended up laughing at his sphere of snow that ended up more of a cube, and they gave up halfway through.

It’s just so difficult _not_ to make snow blocks. Harry’s honestly always considered himself more circular than straight, so it feels terribly ironic. The God Chione must have a sense of humor.

After picking her up from school, Harry and Lux make the _slow_ drive to Jamie’s after stopping home for snowshoes and Lux’s marshmallow. The roads have been cleared of the snow, but Harry is always an extra cautious driver whenever Lux’s life is on the line too.

When Harry pulls up to the curb, Louis and Jamie are already in the front yard doubled over in laughter, snow trodden around them like they’ve been playing for a while.

Harry just stares for a moment before shutting the car off. Louis looks like a Christmas elf and wet dream mashed into one compact figure.

He wonders whether he blows tinsel when he comes. He wouldn’t put it past him.

Harry’s dick stirs, but once he opens the door he realizes he has absolutely nothing to worry about. It’s cold as fuck. Boners are as far in the future as short-sleeved shirts.

Lux runs as fast as she can through her shoes sinking into the snow, an oddly forlorn expression on her face. When she reaches Louis she crosses her arms over her chest like she’s disappointed.

“Did you have an adventure without me today?” she accuses him.

Louis grins as he bends down to get on her level. _“Every_ day is an adventure.”

She seems to take the vague response as an acceptable answer because she ignores him and pulls her gloves out of her pockets as she starts bossing Jamie around, listing the materials they need to build an acceptable snowman and sending him off to grab them.

Harry is glad she seems to know what she’s doing without him. He and Louis share a quick look and sneak away to lean against the front door to supervise in privacy and take shelter from the wind.

“I think you just use me to get Lux to come over,” Harry jokes once his ass is on the way to being completely numb. “Easy money, you know? You don’t have to entertain Jamie yourself if she’s here, too.”

Louis looks almost horrified by that, his mouth open incredulously. “Wait. Are you serious?”

Fuck. It’s possible Harry’s joke fell flat. “I mean, like— _no_. Just, I—”

Oh no. His brain is doing that thing it does.

_Not thinking._

“I think I just meant I wish we could hang out just the two of us more, you know? It’s always the four of us, and—it’s never just us—”

Louis’ cheeks are almost as red as his nose. Harry thinks he’s successfully swerved.

“I think I get kind of sad because you always seem more excited around the kids than with just me,” Harry adds. It’s not even a lie—Louis has a special gleam in his eye whenever he’s talking to Jamie, and he even has a recently developed Lux-look.

He doesn’t have a Harry look yet. And that just sounds wrong. Harry deserves a special look just for him. He’s a delight. He’s a peach.

“Well, I really _do_ love kids,” Louis explains after a brief stretch of silence, his face pensive. “I think I kind of put on a show for Jamie a lot of the time… just to show him it’s important to be enthusiastic and optimistic about things.”

Harry feels a little bit terrible that his swerve has Louis thinking so much. He looks so serious; it wasn’t supposed to be this serious.

“He’s just—the kids at school are really mean to him, and Lux is one of the only friends he has,” Louis continues, his eyebrows furrowed with the gravity of the situation. “I try to make him think there’s something better around the corner when we’re together, and I guess I _have_ been pushing the play dates, but it’s just because I think he gets lonely and bored since it’s just the two of us all the time. And Lux is good for him.”

Harry officially Feels Bad.

“I don’t think I need to fake enthusiasm around you, though. I think it’s just—it’s important with kids that you keep them happy for as long as possible since there’s so much bad in the world. They deserve to hold on to that faith for the future and stay curious and hopeful, you know? Before the real world catches up to them. But I’m guessing you’ve had a few more life experiences than those two.”

Harry glances to the front yard where Lux and Jamie are trying to stack a blob of crumbling snow into their first snowball. Their teamwork and innocence hits Harry straight in the chest.

“I really do like you, though,” Louis goes on, his face open and honest, but still serious. “We can hang out just the two of us tonight, if you’re free. There’s this—this dumb tree lighting ceremony downtown, but there’ll be free apple cider, and my friends Liam and Zayn are singing Christmas carols onstage, and I promised them I’d come support them.”

Harry imagines sliding his hand over Louis’ in answer, but he figures it would play out as terribly cheesy due to their snow gloves.

He’s saved the rejection by a snowball to the face. Lux giggles and runs away, pulling Jamie along until they’re hidden behind a tree. The snowman stands dejected and half finished in the center of everything.

Louis cracks his knuckles. “I think they just declared war. You down?”

Harry groans but agrees.

As they prowl to the tree, Louis shoves at his shoulder. “And _for your information_ , I don’t even get paid for watching him. I do it because I like it, you jerk.”

* 

The ceremony is just as cliché as Louis made it out to be on the porch. The incumbent mayor says a few propaganda-filled sentences on stage covertly dissing his future mayoral opponent before yelling out a loud _Merry Christmas!_ The towering tree lights up when he pushes a button Harry thinks is more for show than practicality, and the crowd _ooh_ s appropriately.

It’s pretty, but anticlimactic. Once the crowd realizes nothing else exciting is going to happen, they rush to the free popcorn and watered down, tepid hot chocolate at the tables along the perimeter.

At the same time, two boys around their age ascend the side stage stairs. The mayor claps the skinnier one on the back and seems to wish the both of them luck, but Harry can’t be completely sure. Louis throws his half-finished cup of hot chocolate into a trashcan and leads Harry with a hand to the small of his back so they’re front and center.

There’s no competition to get there. There are a few kids dancing and singing along in front of the stage and tired parents waiting with their feet tapping impatiently at the side, but most people are gone or only half-listening at the side since they’ve gotten their fill of free food and drink.

It’s a shame, though, because Louis’ friends are actually really good. The one Louis points out as Zayn, the skinny one with the dark hair and unfairly good looks, has a bit of microphone trouble, but his voice could probably croon Harry into orgasm if he was focused enough. Liam is amazing, too, with a high falsetto that could put JT to shame. Their rendition of Silent Night is their best— haunting and harmonizing seamlessly.

It’s not fair that they only have Harry and Louis and a few children trying to sing along (with half of the lyrics incorrect) as an audience. It reminds him of his sadness from the morning with the snow.

Harry claps as loud as possible when they announce a five-minute intermission, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. He makes a quick remark to Louis that if they had brought their children they’d probably have had an amazing time.

“We’re not their parents, Harry,” he laughs, his eyes tracking his friends’ movements.

Once they’re off the stage, Louis pulls him by the hand to meet them.

Harry’s heart speeds up—meeting Louis’ friends feels like a _step_. Also, Zayn’s face is overwhelming. He’s not sure he could look straight into it without hyperventilating.

The two performers are deep in discussion when Harry and Louis reach them at the side of the stage.

Zayn and Liam turn to him in unison. Both of them look down to where Louis is still gripping his hand, and Harry doesn’t miss the way Zayn’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Um, this is Harry,” Louis introduces him almost cautiously.

“Hey, nice to meet you,” Zayn tilts his head up in greeting, and Harry realizes he will never be as cool as him. He’d be sadder about it if it seemed like it was possible for anyone else to measure up too, though.

Liam reaches forward to shake his hand. “Liam, nice to meet you.”

Harry can feel Louis’ pulse get faster under his thumb as the following silence grows more tense by the second, the context of their meeting unsaid and not discussed with their hands linked.

“You guys did really well up there,” Harry says, mostly because it’s true and not because he wants to break the unnerving silence.

“Thanks, man,” Liam smiles like he’s genuinely pleased. Zayn blinks.

“Nobody’s even listening,” he sighs. “I’m gonna go see if Perrie’s even _here.”_

He sulks away, Liam watching as he goes with a crease between his eyes.

Louis seems unsure of how to proceed. “Um… would you be mad if we left—since it’s so cold out?”

“Yeah, no worries,” Liam tells him.

He turns to Harry. “Sorry about Zayn. He’s having _girl issues_ and he’s pissed about his microphone cutting off his solo in Silver Bells. Thanks for coming, though, guys,” he grins like he truly does appreciate it. “It means a lot to both of us.”

*

As Harry drives Louis home, he takes control of the radio. The streets are mostly empty as they make their way out of town, snow piled up along the sides of the road.

At a stop sign close to his neighborhood, Louis turns the heater up a notch and turns the music down. “Don’t you think it’s weird that when you get older, Christmas doesn’t really feel the same?”

His tone is pensive and wistful, cautious.

“I think it’s just a part of growing up,” Harry answers honestly. “Once you learn the truth about Santa, you sled downhill from there.”

Harry was hoping for a laugh, but Louis sighs and brings his knees up to his chest. He rests his chin there and waits a moment before he responds. “December has always felt really special to me. My birthday’s on Christmas Eve, so it’s always kind of felt like Christmas was _my_ holiday. Like, a lot of people have always told me they felt bad for me that I had to share, but my parents were always really good about making sure that day was all mine. It felt extra special. I just remember it used to be such a happy time. It always felt like the best time of the year.”

Harry’s always resented the fact that Valentine’s Day dared to share his birthday _month._ He feels selfish.

“But every year it just gets worse and worse. There’s no more magic. And, like, I know it’s selfish but now that I’m older my birthday just gets kind of swept under the rug because we have family coming over or we have to worry about wrapping presents for the next morning or something. It’s just not _special_ anymore, and I kind of hate it.”

A frowning Louis doesn’t belong in the world. It’s painful. Harry wants to kiss a smile onto his face, but he supposes that would be dangerous while driving.

“It’s never going to be as good as it was growing up, and that’s kind of scary to think about,” he adds on, his voice small.

Harry wishes he could say something _helpful,_ but he knows Louis is right. Once you begin to have to _give_ gifts instead of simply receive, the lost feelings of wonder and excitement are irreversible.

“I guess that means you just have to bring the magic yourself, then,” Harry tries.

They pull up to the curb in front of Louis’ house; it’s just as he remembers it last time, but with layer of snow covering the brown roof.

“That’s true,” Louis breathes out. “I’ve been trying, though. I really have. It still just doesn’t feel the same, no matter what I do.”

Harry leaves the car idling, unsure whether Louis is just going to leave or whether he’s going to try to follow Harry’s advice of making his own _magic._

He’s guessing the former since he seems down.

He tries not to feel sad about it, but orgasms truly make everything more magical. It would be a worthy attempt. He weighs the pros and cons of suggesting that they touch each other’s ornaments.

“Anyway,” Louis goes on, rolling his sleeves over his hand. “I hope you had fun tonight. Sorry about it being boring, I just thought it’d kind of help me feel more—‘ _tis the season_ , or something.”

“Did it work?” Harry asks. He slides his palm to Louis’ knee and squeezes.

He still hasn’t lost hope. He’s quite unsubtle.

Louis shakes his head and almost lets out a short laugh. “Not really. It kind of just reminded me Zayn’s extra brooding when he has a girlfriend and that Liam’s his best friend.”

“Liam’s best friend? Is that—did he used to be yours?” Harry pries.

Louis shakes his head and tries to smile. “No, it’s always been Zayn and Liam. It’s okay, but—it makes me kind of jealous, especially around this time of year. I don’t really have someone like that, and it just seems nice to be first on someone’s priorities, you know? For it to be mutual.”

Harry exhales regretfully when he realizes Louis will _definitely_ not be up for a late-night, curfew-pushing make out session. And then he feels guilty because Louis is definitely looking for some reassurance.

He thinks about saying Louis could be his number one, but that feels a little bit too forward. It’s not that it’s too fast, necessarily—it’s just that it seems like a big step. A _huge_ step. A step with repercussions for the future that he’s not sure he truly wants or is ready for yet.

He likes Louis a lot, so much that it’s kind of scary. He likes him so much he could envision reoccurring weekend dates and stupid 25 cent rings from pizza dispensaries signifying their commitment to each other and road trips full of greasy fast food and eating so many Funyuns they throw up yellow.

It seems doable, more than doable— _amazing_ , but he’s only sixteen. He’s never been good with commitment or sticking to one thing for too long, but it feels like he likes Louis too much to lie or promise something he’s not sure he’d be able to follow through with. Harry doesn’t want to take on more than he knows he can handle, because Louis means more than he thinks he’d like to admit to himself.

Instead of saying anything of significance, he kisses Louis’ cheek and wishes him a good night, fingers brushing against his knee like a silent promise his words can’t express.

* 

Harry tosses and turns all night with Louis’ words jingling around his mind. He’s still hesitant to promise anything more than he knows he can, but he wants to make Louis’ Christmas and birthday special in the way possible—so he vows to make him feel less forgotten, more loved and cherished and… _Christmassy_ in general.

The next day when he and Lux come over to Jamie’s after school, Harry brings _Home Alone_ and an unopened Advent calendar. Since it’s not exactly the first day of December, they all eat a few extra pieces of chocolate each. And it’s not like chocolate is ever a bad thing, but Louis’ smile makes it even more worth it.

And it continues.

Harry brings plain ornaments to decorate with green and gold glitter because he somehow misplaced the red. He brings special stationery so Jamie and Lux and even Louis can write letters to Santa reminding him of everything they want for Christmas. They drink apple cider in plastic champagne glasses and make cookies with red sprinkles baked into them and light gingerbread-vanilla scented candles.

One day, Harry brings red and green nail polish over to pain Lux’s nails while they watch _Elf._ He’s not exactly a nail painting expert, but he’s helped Gemma with her nails on a few occasions, so he’s sure Lux won’t be getting too much on her skin.

He hopes.

He’ll try his best.

Louis is sitting beside him on the couch, his feet wiggling and tucked up under Harry’s thighs as he leans against the armrest, his eyes glued to the screen. Lux has half of her fingers painted, _satisfactorily_ if Harry does say so himself.

“Can you draw a Christmas tree here?” Lux asks, the newspaper crumpling under her hand as she indicates her red pointer finger.

Harry laughs and screws the top on the red bottle. He reaches for the green and wonders how that would even work. If it would even be _possible._

He doesn’t think so. “I’m not very artistic.”

“But I wanna tree,” she pouts, though she stays still as he begins to paint the alternating nails green.

Jamie peers over Lux’s should curiously from her other side. “Can boys wear nail polish?”

It’s shy and hesitant, but the most Harry has ever gotten out of him. He almost paints a stripe down Lux’s finger in surprise.

“Of course,” Harry tells him straightaway, his voice feigning casualty.

He brings the brush to his left thumb and paints over his own nail to show him, and then holds it up as proof. “See? Just as green as on Lux’s nails.”

Jamie looks down to the floor, his lip protruding just the tiniest bit. Louis’ toes are still wriggling beneath Harry’s thighs.

“They’d be mean,” Jamie mumbles, mostly to himself.

Harry’s heart feels like it shatters, but he comes up with a quick solution. “Come here.”

Jamie shakes his head, but Lux climbs off the couch and gestures for him to take her spot. She doesn’t even mind that she has a few unpainted nails. Her selflessness knows no bounds.

Jamie scoots toward him with wide eyes, his nerves apparent.

“If you take off your socks, I can paint your toes. That way, nobody mean will be able to see and say anything to you, but you can still be _just_ as festive as Lux,” Harry negotiates.

He sneaks a glance at Louis out of the corner of his eyes as Jamie dutifully peels his socks off. He looks like he’s trying to hide a smile.

“I can’t promise it will be perfect, but I’ll try my best,” Harry warns him once his feet are free. They lock eyes and share a hesitant smile before he gets to work.

He almost gets through the first foot without incident, but he accidentally paints out of the lines on Jamie’s big toe. He giggles at the cold, but he doesn’t tell him to stop.

“Hey, Jamie,” Harry whispers once he gets his other foot. Louis and Lux both pretend to be oblivious and immersed in Buddy talking about smiling being his favorite. Harry might love both of them.

“One day the bullies aren’t going to seem so scary to you,” he vows. He moves on to the next toe but paints out of the lines again because he’s too busy trying to make sure Jamie understands. “Bullies are mean because they don’t feel good about themselves. So whenever they’re nasty to you, just remember that you should actually feel sorry for _them_ and that it’ll get better.”

Jamie shrugs his shoulders and drops his eyes to his colorful toes like he’s not sure he believes him.

“I promise you,” Harry assures him. “You’ll look back one day when you’re older and you’ll wonder why you ever let them get to you. They’ll probably be smelly and won’t have real friends like you. They’ll wish they’d been nice to you.”

Jamie sniffles but doesn’t say anything other than _okay._

Louis stands only seconds later, asking whether everyone wants hot chocolate.

“Me!” Lux screams. She hops off the couch and follows him into the kitchen, leaving Harry and Jamie alone.

And Harry never thought it would be possible to feel awkward around a four year old, but silence truly does things to him. It’s just that it feels like he hasn’t earned Jamie’s approval yet, and now he just keeps _staring_ at him.

“Do you like Lou?” Jamie asks shortly after the door closes behind Lux.

An abrupt change of pace. This child gets straight to the point. It’s something Harry would probably do at that age, too. Maybe they’re more alike than he thought.

“He always makes his hair look good when you come over. In the mirror before he opens the door,” Jamie adds on.

Harry blushes, secretly pleased. “I like him, I think.”

Jamie smiles, showcasing the blank space from where he must have recently lost a tooth. Harry feels terribly unobservant for not noticing before now.

“I think he wants to kiss. I heard on the phone,” Jamie admits.

“We almost kissed once,” Harry tells him.

He’s discussing his love life with a four year old. He’s not sure how his life has come to this. “If he wanted to kiss me, I’d kiss him back. 

* 

The green-markered, misshapen mistletoe is hanging above the front door.

Michael Buble is crooning Christmas songs in the corner.

The Christmas lights are turned up to their highest brightness.

It’s snowing outside—fluffy snowflakes, rather than the clumpy pebbles of ice.

Harry _thinks_ this is going to be potentially the Best Goodbye Kiss in the history of goodbye kisses. The atmosphere is more than perfect. Their surroundings are practically the epitome of a Christmas card. Harry isn’t sure how he didn’t think of this sooner (though Jamie honestly deserves most of the credit, the mistletoe his own scribbled masterpiece.)

“Louis, I think Lux and I are going to head out now,” he fake-yawns once the ending credits for _Elf_ are rolling.

“Mmm, see you tomorrow, then,” Louis acknowledges, his head resting against the back of the couch. Harry stands and waits for Louis to come walk them to the door, but he doesn’t rise.

When Louis doesn’t follow, he scratches behind his neck.

“Um, aren’t—aren’t you going to walk me to the door?” he points out.

Louis raises his eyebrows but doesn’t budge.

“Wait. Why?” he asks suspiciously, his eyes squinted as he takes in the dubiousness of the moment.

“Can you just walk me to the door?” Harry asks again instead of answering.

“Are you planning on throwing a _snowball_ at me? I’m not going anywhere near that door,” he declares, his eyes narrowed.

“Walk to the door!” Jamie shouts from the hallway, just as averse as Harry to the thought of their hastily thought out, master plan being foiled.

Though Harry is surprised his voice carries. Such vocal cords on such a small child. He’s impressed.

Louis reluctantly stands, ignoring Harry’s outstretched hand. “I don’t trust you right now.”

In the hallway, they pass a giggling Lux and Jamie. Louis stops and looks down at them, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” he admits. Jamie pushes his thighs to get him closer to the door and Lux yells that he’s ruining everything.

Harry loves these mini humans. They push Louis until he’s standing directly beneath the mistletoe and then scurry off to the other room to give them the illusion of privacy.

“I don’t—” Louis begins, but Harry looks up pointedly and cuts him off.

Louis follows his gaze and promptly covers his face with his hands. He lets out a laugh and drops his forehead to Harry’s shoulder. “God. I feel so _dumb.”_

Harry pulls him closer by the belt loops. Louis doesn’t lift his head.

“I like you anyway,” he assures him lowly. This time Louis lifts his head and straightaway brings his arms up around Harry’s neck.

His stomach flips at the immediacy. His eyes drop to Louis’ close-up lips and he moves his hands so he’s letting his fingers wander up and down the length of Louis’ back. He can feel a tug at the nape of his neck and thinks Louis’ wrapped a finger around one of his curls.

“So, this—so you want this, too?” Louis finally mumbles, his voice small and tremulous.

Harry doesn’t think he’s met anyone he’s ever wanted to kiss this much before, honestly. He wants to dip him down like in the movies and give him the best kiss of his life.

He doesn’t go for the dramatics, though. He keeps it simple and smiles before he leans in, forgetting to savor the anticipation because he’s sure nothing will compare to finally, _finally_ pressing his lips to Louis’.

And he’s glad he does, because when they kiss it’s like Christmas morning come early. It’s the first snowfall of the year and flashing lights and ringing bells all around. Harry’s heart feels light and golden with cheer and relief, Louis’ fingers twisted in his hair.

His fingers come to a halt and he digs his nails into Louis’ sides, his mouth opening to deepen the kiss once Louis’ palm flattens against the back of his head. He carefully scrapes his teeth against Louis’ lower lip, and then they meet halfway. It isn’t forceful—it’s slow and cautious, their tongues molding to each other in a timid exploration.

But it’s cut short by giggling from behind the doorframe. He leans his forehead against Louis’, both their eyes open, smiles soft and blissful as they let out a laugh of their own.

And for once, it doesn’t feel too fast or too slow. It feels right.

* 

Louis says no presents.

Harry says fuck that.

Presents are a must.

* 

The week before Christmas is always heightened in anticipation— _everything_ feels dipped in deep red and extra sparkly, like a present waiting to be opened.

It’s the 23rd, a lazy Thursday, and Harry gets a text after two helpings of pre-Christmas lunch.

_Hey im watching jamie overnight if you and lux want to come and join :) christmas movies and hot chocolate and stuff_

A sleepover with Louis. The day before his birthday and Christmas Eve.

Ah, the possibilities are endless. Birthday blowjobs, acting out the song _I saw Mommy kissing Santa Clause,_ doing _more_ than kiss under the mistletoe, burning a candle and dripping hot wax on each other as they—

He reminds himself that there will be _children_ and absolutely no time for shared orgasms.

But he still texts back a resolute _yes_ before he even calls Lou to see whether she’d be okay with him borrowing Lux for the day. He’ll bribe her if necessary.

*

Louis kisses him shyly at the door and lets them both in, Lux and Jamie giggling as it happens.

They all hurry inside to get away from the wind, and Harry feels like he’s walking into a Christmas movie. The front room is dimly lit with a crackling fire and the glow from the Christmas tree lights. Two stockings are hanging from the mantelpiece, obviously decorated by Jamie with little bursts of puff paint along the silky expanse of red. It smells like winter and pinecones, and Harry is ready for apple cider and fresh cookies and everything he remembers growing up with.

Harry brings up the possibility of finally making the cookies they were supposed to make on the day of the Almost-Kiss, but they quickly realize there is absolutely no flour in any of the cabinets.

Jamie and Lux pout in despair, but Louis comes up with a simple solution.

Caroling.

 _Caroling._ Harry’s not sure he’s ever gone caroling. He knows he has a pretty decent voice (at least according to his parents) but he’s never really thought about singing in front of other people.

Louis, Lux, and Jamie haven’t gone caroling either, so they all bundle up into their warmest coats and brave the howling wind outside.

They decide on singing _We Wish You A Merry Christmas_ because it’s the only song they all know the words to. He doesn’t think there are any words aside from the six in the title, so he figures they’ll make it. Somehow.

And if not, Louis points out that since Jamie and Lux are two of the cutest humans in the entire world, they’re guaranteed to get away with it, along with acquiring enough gratitude cookies to fill them until New Year’s.

The first to open their door is a cute old couple, a woman with short curly grey hair and a man with absolutely none. They fiddle with their hearing aids as Harry tries to sing through his smile, and once they finish their last note they both cheer.

“It’s really too bad we’re Jewish,” the old man states, his face blank. Louis begins to apologize just as both of the old couple let out a giggle.

“Ooh! I think we have something I think the kids will like,” the woman says, and then she hobbles away from the doorframe.

The old man stays where he is, pulling funny faces at Lux and Jamie as they wait for her return. Louis fonds at them all, smile genuine, his eyes crinkly at the sides.

Harry wants to ask whether they’ve already lit the menorah or whether there are any leftover lakes and whether the man takes his with applesauce or sour cream, but then the woman returns with a bag of gelt. She tries to bend down to hand it directly to Lux, but Harry puts a hand to her shoulder and takes it from her before she can hurt herself.

“Thank you for this,” Harry grins.

There’s really no better chocolate in the world. He might not share. “Happy Hanukkah! Sholem Aleikhem!”

They’re Harry’s favorite for the night.

And once everyone is sufficiently chilly and full of gelt and chocolate chip cookies, they head back to the house, Lux’s nose concerningly red and drippy.

Everyone changes into their comfiest pajamas and Louis puts on The Polar Express while Harry aids Jamie and Lux in constructing a cuddly blanket fort in front of the couch.

Jamie is innovative and fixes the inevitable drooping front opening that Harry couldn’t repair himself. He’s been outsmarted by a four year old. (Though it’s not the first time.)

Lux and Jamie curl up under a thick reindeer blanket together and drop off before the train even makes it to the North Pole.

On the other side of the fort, Louis curls into Harry’s side and noses at his jaw. He reaches under Harry’s shirt and begins tracing slow circles into his chest, his breath slow and humid against his neck. Harry’s sweating under the two blankets and with Louis pressed up against him so close, but he thinks it’s worth it. He doesn’t even mind Louis’ cold toes nudging against his own.

Harry would quite like to do more than cuddle, but he knows it’s not really the most ethical thing to do when two four year olds are sleeping so close by.

They fall asleep as the embers from the fire extinguish, trading sleepy-soft kisses and gentle touches while the movie plays on.

*

The first thing Harry realizes when he wakes up is that it’s still unfairly early in the morning. The sun is barely rising, casting the room in dull blue-tinged shadows. Louis is drooling on his shoulder and Lux and Jamie are fast asleep with their foreheads pressed close together on their other side.

Christmas Eve. Louis’ birthday.

Harry realizes it’s going to be impossible to get back to sleep, so he settles on studying Louis up close.

It’s hard to see because of the darkness, but his face seems peaceful and blank, neither happy nor sad. It occurs to Harry how different it is to see someone when they’re sleeping, unguarded and unaware of everything going on in the world outside of their mind.

Harry wonders what’s going on in Louis’ mind. He hopes he’s dreaming of Christmas or having sex. Preferably with him.

He ghosts his finger across Louis’ back and watches the way his eyes move in his sleep as the room slowly brightens. It feels almost voyeuristic in a way, even though he knows Louis wouldn’t object. Either way, Harry feels oddly fortunate to be able to see him like this before he’s even gained consciousness.

But… Harry eventually gets bored. He accidentally on purpose digs his fingers into Louis’ shoulder blade and pulls him closer, smiling as Louis’ eyes flutter open and he lets out a soft groan of resistance.

“Happy birthday,” Harry whispers in delight, kissing Louis’ forehead.

“Ugh. Thanks,” Louis grins, closing his eyes and snuggling closer. He rests his head against Harry’s shoulder and presses his lips to Harry’s collarbone, his eyes shutting once again in defiance.

“Hey, what present do you think you want most today?” Harry asks. The wrapped box sitting at the bottom of his bag weighs heavy in his mind.

Louis lazily runs his hand up Harry’s chest and clutches at his unoccupied shoulder. “Don’t think there’s anything I’d rather have than you as my boyfriend, honestly,” Louis blinks and gazes up at him with soft, sleepy eyes.

And Harry’s stomach plummets.

“Uh. Uh, boyfriend?” he asks shortly, even more awake than before.

A million thoughts fly through his mind at once—all of the things he’ll never experience if he says yes to Louis and their relationship works out the way he desperately would like for it to.

An unnamed, tanned lifeguard and all of the people he’ll never be able to flirt with again. Gemma’s friend Dillon he’s always wanted to kiss. One night stands with guys who speak a different language. Falling in love with a stranger on public transportation.

It’s scary to think that he’d trade all of the opportunities in the future for one boy. One admittedly _amazing,_ incredible boy—but _one_ boy. How is he supposed to bet on one person at sixteen?

Boyfriend is official. Boyfriend is _final._ Boyfriend is together forever or a tragic break up.

Boyfriend is more than he’s sure he can chew for now. He really just went into this whole thing to have someone to kiss on New Years—it wasn’t supposed to turn out like this. It wasn’t supposed to really _mean_ anything. Louis wasn’t supposed to mean so much to him.

It all feels like too much at once. He likes Louis a lot, more than he ever anticipated, honestly, but he isn’t sure it’s _enough._ He doesn’t want to hurt him, and he’s not sure he can promise commitment when he’s not even sure which season is his favorite half the time.

His heart feels like it’s stuck in a tug of war. He knows he and Louis would be perfect together—he can imagine it and he _wants_ it. He really does. If things work out with Louis, he wants him _forever,_ no messy break ups or crying or drama.

But the other side of his heart, the one he thinks with most often, is screaming out _no_ and _wait_ and _there’s so much more to see._

“I—um—” Harry stutters, unsure how to react. He doesn’t know what to say, which part of his heart to listen to. The decision feels pivotal and too huge.

He knows he should say yes, knows that’s what’s expected because they’ve been hanging out so much and he’s sure he sent out _I like you_ signals because he knows he _does_ like him _(a lot),_ but the words won’t come out of his mouth.

Louis’ hand clenches on top of his skin and he pulls it away, into his own chest. He looks hurt, his eyes avoiding and embarrassed. “I—fuck. Pretend I didn’t say that.”

Harry can’t move or answer, his body heavy and heart racing.

“I think I’m going back to sleep,” Louis blurts out. He flips so his back is to Harry and he’s not curled into him, as he was all night. Harry’s arm is still stuck below him, but he thinks it would be too weird to pull it away.

He’s still frozen, anyway. He can’t move. Moot point.

He’s pretty sure he just ruined Louis’ birthday. He feels terrible. He feels worse than terrible. He’d probably be okay with the Earth swallowing him whole.

He doesn’t fall back asleep. He doesn’t think Louis does either, if the deep breaths he’s trying to disguise are any indication.

*

When Lux and Jamie wake up (finally) Louis stands and avoids Harry’s gaze.

“Uh, maybe you should get Lux back to her parents,” he suggests as he picks at his nail.

Harry feels so helpless and horrible, like he’s sucked all of the good cheer out of such a happy time with just his fumbling words.

The air is thick with resentment and sorrow and unsung explanations, but Harry can sense that he’s not wanted and it’s his cue to leave. He’s not sure exactly what he’d say otherwise, anyway.

He and Lux leave only moments later. She hugs Jamie and Louis while Harry stands awkwardly and watches. Louis doesn’t even walk them to the door.

In the car, Harry is quiet.

“Louis has sad eyes,” Lux remarks from the back.

He knows.

* 

After dropping Lux and a present for Lou off, Harry stays in his car and drives.

He doesn’t have a particular destination in mind. It’s just therapeutic, even with the influx of holiday traffic. Families in crowded SUVs and women in business suits drive by, and Harry wonders what their story is. He wonders whether they have someone they’re going home to, whether they’re eager to see family they haven’t seen since last Christmas, whether they’re more stressed or excited.

Christmas music is playing softly from the radio, but it’s anything but calming. Harry’s stomach is still in knots—like he’s overeaten Christmas cookies and is dealing with the aftermath, though he knows it’s because he’s upset with how things ended at Jamie’s.

He’s known they’ve been building up to this the entire time, but he’s never _really_ thought past the snow melting, what he and Louis would mean to each other after the holiday season was over.

He’s always taken things as they come without too much forethought, and it’s always ended up well. But thinking of something more permanent, like what he could have with Louis— _that_ requires foresight, which Harry sorely lacks.

He tries to silence his thoughts and turns up the radio. _Baby It’s Cold Outside_ begins playing, and Harry’s fingers hover unsure over the dial as he decides whether to change it or not.

He likes the song well enough, but he sighs and turns the dial to see what else is playing. He flips through all of his favorites, but ultimately ends up on the same station, listening to the same damn song.

*

“Are you ready to tell me why you look like the Grinch stole Christmas?” Gemma asks once they’re cuddled up on the sofa just the two of them, _Love Actually_ playing on low volume.

Harry shrugs and pulls the blanket tighter over his shoulders. “I—I did a bad.”

“What did you _do?”_ Gemma questions, eyes wide.

Harry watches Bill Nighy sing with his legs spread awkwardly wide on screen, mulling over how to explain the _thing._

“Have you ever—have you ever felt split between two decisions, but you don’t know which decision is _actually_ what you want?” His voice feels weak and small, his inner turmoil showing through.

Gemma nods and snuggles in closer. “Of course, Harry. Honestly, I think everyone has that problem. What’s going on?”

“I’ve been hanging out with this boy,” Harry says.

“Louis,” he adds on, his lips curling at the corners. “And he’s _really_ great. Like, if I had a boyfriend I think he’s everything I’d ever want. He’s—he’s, like, perfect.”

Gemma nods. “Well, then, what’s the issue?”

Harry frowns and curls his feet up under his thighs. “If we date, I don’t want it to end horribly. I don’t want it to end _at all_. But then if we date and we stay together forever, I’ll only be with _him_ forever, and it sounds nice, but it’s also scary. Like, I still haven’t kissed Dillon. I’m only sixteen, Gemma. How can I make a decision like this at only sixteen?”

She mutes the television.

“First of all, you’re never kissing Dillon, so get that out of your head,” Gemma rolls her eyes. “And second of all, you’re acting like he asked you to _marry_ him. Jesus! You’re only sixteen. I don’t even think forever should be in your vocabulary yet.”

Gemma doesn’t understand that Louis has forever embedded into his skin.

“It sounds to me like you’re making excuses for being afraid,” she adds on. “If he’s really as great as you say he is, why would you want to date anyone else, anyway? Why wouldn’t you grab onto him if you’ve been hanging out and you like him and he’s right there?”

He doesn’t have an answer.

It strikes Harry, then, that he idealizes the future in the way Louis romanticizes the past. That the future isn’t some intangible great _one day_ , but something that will come whether he’s ready for it or not.

He’s always secretly prided himself over the fact that he lived in the present, but he realizes he’s been living that way in order to stay in a perpetual state of putting off decisions, keeping his future open for an unknown that might not even exist. His pseudo-living in the now has been his way of putting off the future, but, in essence, letting it control him.

The only constant in life is that the sun will rise tomorrow and that death is unavoidable, but Harry has been living in fear of his future meeting his present.

“Gemma, I fucked up.” 

* 

_hey louis sorry about earlier are you busy tonight????_

He doesn’t want to lose Louis, and he needs to make things right.

In a spark of genius, he finds Zayn and Liam on Facebook and they develop a plan—a master plan that Harry would argue deserves to be in the Christmas Hollywood blockbuster next year, if possible.

_Working until 11 bc nobody knows how to wrap present themselves godfucking damn it_

It puts a damper on Harry’s plans, but it doesn’t seem completely dismissive (and nicer than Harry probably deserves after the morning’s events.) He’ll make it work, but he has a lot to do before picking Louis up.

*

“You’re welcome! Have a great Christmas,” comes Louis’ falsely chipper voice.

Harry ducks his head down behind his borrowed book and surveys his surroundings. Louis is currently smiling much too brightly, his eyes nowhere near crinkling, and Harry feels a pang of sadness that he has to work on Christmas Eve and his _birthday_ of all days. It seems unfair. Louis deserves better.

He watches on as Louis valiantly keeps his energy up, chatting with the woman in front of the desk with tired, dead eyes as he wraps a skinny, blue book.

Once the woman is on her way, a nice tip in the food drive donation jar, Harry abandons his hiding spot by the magazines and makes his entrance.

“Hello—” Louis begins, but his face drops when he sees it’s him.

 _“Oh._ Hi,” he grumbles as he fixes his hat. “Do you have an actual book for me to wrap this time?”

Harry hesitates and moves one hand to the wrapping table to brace himself. “I, uh, I came to pick you up after your shift.”

Louis breathes and crosses his arms over his chest. His face turns sarcastic. “Are you sure you’re ready for that type of commitment?”

Harry supposes he deserves that. But he _is._ “I wanted to—to make up for… earlier. This morning.”

Louis pinches the bridge of his nose and sits at the blue chair behind his desk. _“Listen._ You really don’t have to do that. I guess I kind of just brought that up out of nowhere—I was still half asleep. I don’t really know what I was thinking.”

He looks embarrassed and self-conscious, like he wishes he’d never asked in the first place. But Harry is determined to get this right.

“Please?” he asks, because he’s quite sure he’ll blow Louis’ socks and pants off with what he has planned. He just needs to get him there.

Louis finally shrugs and nods halfheartedly. “I guess it’s better than walking home in the snow, anyway.”

“You were going to walk home in the snow?” Harry gasps, completely forgetting their awkwardness.

It’s cold as fuck.

Louis laughs a little, like he might have forgotten about their predicament, too. “Yeah, no buses on Christmas Eve. Funny, that.”

*

“Alright, so, I’m going to need your full cooperation for this,” Harry explains once they’re out of the car after a mostly silent journey. He pulls the blindfold from his pocket and grins at Louis.

He furrows his eyebrows and leans away from him, like he doesn’t trust him. “I’m not sure why you need me to be blindfolded.”

Harry can see Liam’s car out of the corner of his eye and adjusts their positions accordingly. “Because I need you to be surprised. Because it’s a surprise.”

Louis begrudgingly allows him to tie the blindfold over his eyes and lets himself be pulled into the backyard. They crunch through the snow and the latch to the gate is almost frozen over, but they make it to the back without anyone falling over.

“Stay,” Harry whispers, his hands digging into Louis’ shoulders before he rushes to make sure everything is perfect and make any last minute adjustments.

He pulls the blindfold off just as Liam and Zayn begin the opening notes to their Happy Birthday/Baby It’s Cold Outside remix, which actually turned out much better than Harry thought it would when they suggested it.

But he can’t focus on them or listen at all, because his attention is diverted to Louis— as it always is.

Louis’ eyes widen as he takes in the lit up snowflakes drilled into the grass and the Christmas lights wrapped tightly around the tree trunk and branches. Harry holds up his sign with a glitter gold 10 painted on it and stands in front of the tree, proud of his work.

Louis hasn’t even seen the homemade birthday cake inside on the kitchen table. It’s probably going to be his favorite birthday/Christmas Eve since he was eight. Harry can’t wait to see the happiness and Christmas cheer radiating from his smile—

Louis looks confused, though.

Harry’s waiting smile quickly drops off. He was truly expecting a huge, heartfelt blush and maybe an uncontrollable kiss of passion, rather than a half-understanding nod.

Perhaps his naivety is more deeply rooted than he thought.

“What’s this about?” Louis finally asks, his eyes cautious.

“It’s—it’s your birthday surprise,” Harry explains. He’d thought it would be transparent and obvious, but it’s apparent he has to spell things out.

“You don’t get it?” he asks, trying not to frown. “It’s—you’re my _ten_. And I didn’t realize it until after this morning when I was driving around feeling shitty and I couldn’t decide what to listen to on the radio and then I talked to Gemma. You’ve been my ten this whole time, but I’ve been blinded. I haven’t been able to see.”

Louis breathes out as Zayn reaches a note previously unknown to man.

“You mean—your ten, like—like I’m the best-decorated house in town?” Louis asks, his eyes suddenly wet.

“Best decorated house in the world, probably,” Harry reassures him. Louis’ lip is wobbling and he’s grabbing at his elbows with both arms crossed over his stomach like he’s cold and unsure of how to react.

“And I—about this morning, I’m _really_ sorry,” Harry adds. He abandons his sign and walks forward to pull Louis’ hands from his elbows and lace their fingers together. “I was—I think I was scared, but I’d love to be your boyfriend.”

Louis bites his lip and roams his eyes over the decorated backyard just as Liam and Zayn finish their song, Liam in falsetto and Zayn riffing all the way to the New Year.

“I think—I think I’d like that a lot,” Louis smiles, sniffing. “Best birthday present ever,” he adds on before he pulls Harry close and gives him a cold kiss.

Zayn and Liam cheer from the sideline, which makes Louis break away and giggle wetly. Zayn steps in to hug Louis after, whispering a _happy birthday_ into his ear and slipping a small bag into Louis’ pocket.

After Liam hugs him, Louis’ face is red and happy. He looks at them all with a soft smile. “Thanks you guys. This is the best birthday I’ve had in a while, really.”

“We haven’t even had the cake yet!” Harry exclaims.

They head inside so Louis can cut the cake (and make Harry serve it), and they drink hot chocolate with Gemma while his parents hide away in their room to wrap presents.

“Thi i’ the bes cake I e’er had,” Louis explains through a mouthful of red frosting, his face blissful.

“I don’t think you deserve a boyfriend willing to lie in order to spare your feelings,” Gemma comments from the other end of the table.

But that just reminds Harry that he has a real life _boyfriend_ and he pulls Louis in for a quick, red-tinged, sugary kiss.

“Ugh, that’s going to take some getting used to,” Gemma rolls her eyes.

Once the dishes are in the sink and the cake is back in the fridge, Liam apologetically says he needs to get back home, seeing as it’s Christmas Eve and all.

“Thanks for coming on such short notice,” Harry grins, truly thankful. “It wouldn’t have been nearly as cool without you.”

“We’d do anything for Louis,” Zayn grins. “That goes for the future, too, if you fuck up this badly again.”

Louis stays to help with the cleaning up before he sighs and says he should probably get home, too.

Once they’re in the car, Louis turns the Christmas music to low and turns to him.

“So, I have a bit of a confession,” he admits. Harry turns to raise his eyebrows at him questioningly before returning his attention to the road.

Louis takes a deep breath. “I might have thrown your Christmas present into the fire.”

Harry laughs even though the thought that Louis was so mad at him that he practically burned his own money is sad. But it reminds him he has a present for Louis somewhere in the backseat.

When he echoes his thoughts to Louis, he demands that they open it together once they make it to his house.

So once Harry parks on the street, they both climb into the backseat, houses lit by Christmas lights twinkling all around them. It takes a bit of digging around because Harry’s backseat isn’t exactly the tidiest and because they had to make an abrupt stop for a crowd of late night, drunk as fuck carolers that stepped into the middle of the road, but he finds it.

It’s small, light, and wrapped in gold because he thought it’d match Louis skin. Louis is careful as he unwraps it, not letting the tape tear the paper, Harry’s arm tight around his shoulder.

When it’s unwrapped, he opens the box slowly, revealing the silver watch Harry thought he’d like. The box creaks and the little piece of paper he slipped in before wrapping it flutters out.

Louis grabs it before it joins the assortment of unrecognizables on the floor.

_I stole this quote from someone named Golda Meir I’m not actually this insightful sorry._

“Oh God, that was supposed to be the back, flip it over,” Harry covers his face in his hands. Louis checks the other side of the paper with furrowed eyebrows.

_I must govern the clock, not be governed by it._

Louis runs his finger over the silver of the watch, his face contemplative.

“When did you get so smart, then?” Louis asks quietly. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Harry stalls. “Uh, basically—”

“I know what it means,” Louis laughs, moving his hand to Harry’s knee. He bites his lip and looks up at Harry with hooded eyes. “But, really, thank you. I think that’s a reminder we all need sometimes.”

Harry agrees. He reasons that it’s okay to think in terms of the past, present, or future as long as there’s a nice balance, as long as one period doesn’t dominate and leave the others completely neglected.

Louis pulls the watch from the box and hands it to Harry to slip onto his wrist. “I’m also notoriously late for things, so this is all around a great gift.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Harry smiles as he secures the watch.

“Love it,” Louis whispers as he climbs into Harry’s lap, straddling him. He throws his arms around his neck and kisses him, mouth heated, sweet, and insistent.

Harry is immediately too hot in his sweatshirt. Louis’ thighs feel just as strong as he’s always envisioned them. Harry runs his hands along them until he’s gripping his bum, his glorious bum.

It’s so breathtaking to finally touch that he has to break away gasping. Louis giggles and moves to kiss his neck instead, as Harry explores the exact firmness of his bum.

Louis grinds down and bites at Harry’s neck, and that’s when he realizes they’re both equally as into this as the other. Harry pulls him in closer and brings one hand up to Louis’ cheek, guiding their mouths back together.

His blood is boiling, Louis’ thighs constricting around his hips and his hands pressed to Harry’s chest. They slowly begin to drag down his torso, until his fingers are clumsily fumbling with Harry’s zipper.

“What’re you waiting for?” Harry mumbles into his mouth, teasing, before nibbling on Louis’ bottom lip. Louis undoes the zip and slips his cold hand inside his boxers.

Harry gasps, half out of the cold and half out of the fact that _Louis’ hand is on his dick._ It’s really there.

But it’s a tight squeeze, so Harry lifts his bum and slides his boxers and jeans down to his knees.

“Fuck,” Louis murmurs, palming himself. “Fuck, me too.”

He unbuttons his jeans and tries to rid himself of them, but they’re stubborn. He gives up and swings his leg over Harry’s thighs after hitting his head on the roof, leaving his jeans hanging off from his ankle.

Louis grinds against him, their cocks sliding together and caught between their sweaters. It’s an interesting sensation, half warm and soft skin and half smooth fabric.

Harry sneaks his hand between them and grabs both of their cocks in his one hand. Louis lets out a sound like he’s been hit with lightning.

Harry goes faster, his heart beating double time every time their cockheads catch. He thinks he’s probably the warmest he’s been since summer, Louis on top of him, his breathing unsteady, his skin warm, bare thighs pale like snowflakes in the colorless night.

Louis comes first, his fingernails digging into Harry’s shoulder, legs constricting around Harry’s hips, moan aimed straight into Harry’s ear.

Harry follows only a moment later, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

Louis leans his head on Harry’s shoulder as they come down, his fingers ghosting against Harry’s collarbone. But eventually, the chill creeps in and they both shiver and hastily pull their clothes back on.

Both of their sweaters are stained white near the belly button. Louis takes a look at his new watch and sighs.

“I think it’s time for me to get inside,” he laments.

He kisses Harry’s cheek and lingers. “Thank you for the best birthday.”

“The best?” Harry questions in disbelief. He doesn’t want Louis to leave, even though he knows he needs to get back, too.

Louis nods, nose pressed to Harry’s skin. “The very, very best. I’m governing the clock, or whatever. Also… _orgasms.”_

Harry kisses him one more time, smiling after. “You know you can jingle my bell any day...”

Louis laughs and climbs out the door, his chipper _Merry Christmas!_ swirling into the car with the wind.

*

Harry drives home with Christmas music serving as the soundtrack as he replays his day. He doesn’t change the station once.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://thedarkestlarrie.tumblr.com)


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